~A> - 


DUE  or 


d  helow 


'"'- 


STATE  NORM/itS(20UL, 

UOS  HflGELtES,  CAIk. 


MARY'S  GARDEN 
AND  HOW  IT  GREW 


iiAiENUKMALSOSWL, 

UOS  flNGHUES,  CHli. 


MARY'S  GARDEN 
AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

BY 

FRANCES    DUNCAN 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 
LEE  WOODWARD  ZEIGLER 


:'  ,:•::•£. 


NEW  YORK:  THE   CENTURY   CO. 
1908 


Copyright,  1904,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 

Published  November,  190b 


THE  DEVINNE  PRESS 


SUIE  NORMAL  SCHOOL, 

liOS 

SB 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

i  MR.  TROMMEL'S  ASSISTANT    ....      3 

ii  THE  ASSISTANT  AT  WORK     ....     11 

in  PLANTING  IN  BOXES  .......    17 

iv  CROCUSES  AND  THE  SNOWDROP  ...    26 

v  MAKING  CUTTINGS     .......    33 

vi  BEGINNING  THE  GARDEN  .....    38 

vii  PLANTING  SWEET  PEAS      .....    45 

TIII  MAKING  A  ROSE  GARDEN  .....    56 

ix  WAITING  FOR  THE  SWEET  PEAS    .    .    66 

x  PLANTING  ...........     75 

xi  MAKING  THE  SUMMER-HOUSE    ...     84 

xn  MARY  LEARNS  PRUNING    .....    93 

xni  A  NEW  IDEA    .........  106 

xiv  THE  HORTICULTURAL  CLUB  .    .    .    .112 

xv  SETTING  OUT  PRIVET  CUTTINGS     .    .  124 
v 


VI 

CHAI 


CONTENTS 


xvi  MR.  TROMMEL  VISITS  THE  GARDENS  .  132 

xvn  SETTING  OUT  SEEDLINGS 145 

xvin  MARY  IN  MR.  TROMMEL'S  GARDEN    .  149 
xix  TRANSACTIONS    OF    THE    HORTICUL- 
TURAL CLUB 156 

xx  THE  POPPIES 164 

xxi  THE  CLUB  IN  MARY'S  GARDEN      .    .  170 

xxn  WHEN  MARY  WAS  IN  THE  COUNTRY  .  182 

xxni  MR.  TROMMEL  TEACHES  THE  ART  OF 

BUDDING 187 

xxiv  TRANSPLANTING  PERENNIALS     .    .    .  195 

,     xxv  THE  FLOWER  SHOW *    .    .  204 

xxvi  SETTING  OUT  BULBS 215 

xxvn  BULBS  FOR  THE  WINDOW-GARDEN     .  225 

xxvni  THE  WINDOW- GARDEN 230 

xxix  PLANTING  TREES 235 

xxx  MAKING  A  COMPOST  HEAP     ....  250 

xxxi  PUTTING  THE  GARDEN  TO  SLEEP  .    .257 


MARY'S   GARDEN 
AND  HOW  IT  GREW 


tlOS  AJMGELiES,  CAIi. 

MARY'S  GARDEN 
AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

CHAPTEE  I 

IB/07 
MR.  TROMMEL'S 'ASSISTANT 

[December] 

IF  you  had  looked  out  of  a  south  window  of  the 
Maxwell    house  the   day  after  Christmas,   you 
would  have  seen  a  little  figure  hurrying  along  the 
path  to  the  side  gate,  the  brown  curls  bobbing  vigor- 
ously up  and  down  with  the  exertion. 

Mr.  Maxwell  was  looking  out  of  the  window, 
watching  the  small  figure  which  was  making  such  a 
bee-line  toward  the  little  house  with  the  roof  all 
peaks  and  gables,  the  long  glass  house  at  the  side, 
just  across  the  road  from  the  Maxwells'  side  gate. 
"Going  over  to  see  old  Trommel,  I  suppose,"  he 
said,  turning  to  his  wife,  with  a  laugh.  "  We  '11  have 
3 


4  MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

a  gardener  in  the  family  if  we  're  not  careful, 
Helen  ;  but  I  see  a  glimmer  of  hope  for  your  rubber- 
plant" 

"We  certainly  need  a  gardener,"  responded  she. 
"But  you  need  n't  laugh  at  my  rubber-plant.  You 
know  perfectly  well,  Roger  Maxwell,  that  you 
could  n't  make  even  a  rubber-plant  grow  if  you  sat 
and  fanned  it  all  day.  I  only  hope  she  does  n't 
bother  dear  old  Peter,"  Mrs.  Maxwell  added,  as  the 
child  disappeared  behind  the  greenhouse  door. 

But  Herr  Peter  Trommel,  gardener,  horticultu- 
rist, retired  florist,  and  above  all  Siritzer,  was  not 
in  the  least  bothered.  He  was  standing  at  the  far 
end  of  the  long  greenhouse,  a  pile  of  soil  on  the 
bench  in  front  of  him,  busily  potting  plants— an  old 
man,  very  short,  very  broad,  with  a  thick  bush  of 
beard. 

"Mr.  Trommel,  Mr.  Trommel ! "  called  a  joyous 
little  voice  as  the  door  opened.  The  old  man  turned 
around. 

"Ha !  That  is  mine  young  assistant ! "  he  ex- 
claimed, beaming  through  his  spectacles  at  the  small 
visitor. 

"I  brought  over  your  present,  Mr.  Trommel,  and 
I  liked  that  'most  the  best  of  anything,  except  Evan- 


ME.  TROMMEL'S   ASSISTANT  5 

geline.  Suppose  I  put  it  on.  "Would  n't  you  like 
to  have  me  help  you  ? "  she  said  coaxingly  as  she 
unrolled  a  diminutive  gardener's  apron,  made  of 
blue  denim,  just  like  the  one  Mr.  Trommel  had  tied 
about  his  capacious  person. 

"Yes,  yes,"  agreed  Herr  Trommel ;  "  I  am  in  need 
of  assistance.  But  hang  up  your  coat  and  hat,  little 
one  ;  they  must  not  drop  on  the  floor,  for  it  is  dirt." 

Mary  hung  up  coat  and  hat,  took  off  her  rubbers, 
and  then  put  the  strap  of  the  apron  over  her  head 
and  pulled  out  the  curls  that  were  caught  under- 
neath it. 

"My  strings  come  around  in  front  and  tie  just 
like  yours,"  she  said,  proudly ;  then  rolled  up  her 
sleeves  above  her  elbows  in  faithful  imitation  of  Mr. 
Trommel's  shirt-sleeves. 

"Prachtvoll ! "  declared  Mr.  Trommel.  "Now  you 
are  a  real  gardener." 

He  left  the  greenhouse,  and  in  a  moment  came 
back  with  a  small  dry-goods  box,  -which  he  set  in 
front  of  the  potting-bench.  "That -will  be  about 
right  to  stand  on,"  said  he. 

"Oh,  is  it  for  me?"  cried  the  little  girl. 

"It  is  for  mine  assistant,  for  mine  under-gar- 
dener,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Now,  Liebchen,  we  will 


6  MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

to  work.  Those  little  pots  are  yours ;  those  little 
plants,"  and  he  laid  a  half-dozen  tiny  rooted  cuttings 
at  her  left  hand,  "  are  for  you ;  that  is  your  pile  of 
soil. 

"Now  watch  me  carefully.  I  put  the  pot  be- 
fore me— so.  I  put  a  little  earth  in  the  bottom  of  the 
pot— so  :  just  a  little,  that  the  roots  will  not  try  to  eat 
the  hard  crock.  I  hold  the  small  plant  in  my  left 
hand— so  :  as  it  will  stand  when  it  is  planted.  With 
my  right  hand  I  cast  the  fine  soil  about  the  roots— so. 
I  press  it  lightly  with  my  fingers— so.  It  will  now 
stand  upright.  I  cast  in  more  soil.  I  press  it  down 
more  firmly.  It  needs  now  but  the  finishing  touch. 
I  cast  a  little  soil  on  top,  lightly ;  I  do  not  press  it 
down  :  I  give  the  plant  a  little  shake,  a  little  knock 
on  the  bench— so.  It  is  done."  He  stood  back  a  step 
and  surveyed  with  pride  the  work  of  his  hands. 

Mary  watched  with  admiring  eyes  ;  then  she  tried 
faithfully  to  imitate,  the  chubby  fingers  poking  the 
Dearth  down  carefully  in  the  tiny  pot.  "How  is 
that?"  she  asked  anxiously. 

The  old  man  took  it  in  his  big  fingers  and  exam- 
ined it  attentively.  "It  is  not  quite  straight,  little 
one  j  and  it  goes  in  too  deep.  You  would  not  like 
to  sleep  all  night  with  your  head  under  the  bed- 


MR.  TROMMEL'S  ASSISTANT 


clothes?    No?     This  little  fellow  does  not  like  that 

he  get  too  far  under,  either." 

He  took  a  little  plant  from  the  pile  of  rooted  cut- 
tings, and  held  it  up.     "See,"  he 

said,  pointing  to  the  mark  of  the 

earth,  "that  is  as  far  as  he  goes 

under  the  covers.    If  he  is  in  too 

deep  he  cannot  breathe." 

He  turned  the  pot  upside  down, 

knocking  it  lightly  on  the  edge  of 

the  bench,  and  handed  the  empty 

pot  back  to  her.     "A  little  more  soil  in  the  bottom 

— see  ?  "  and  he  picked  up  another  pot  for  himself. 
"Ah,  that  is  better  j  now  look  at  me  again."  " 

The  brown  eyes  of  the  young 
assistant  watched  the  big  fin- 
gers intently,  the  small  brown 
hands  worked  industriously. 
At  last  she  handed  him  a  pot 
for  inspection.  Instead  of  pok- 
ing and  pushing  the  earth,  Mr. 
Trommel  looked  at  this  one 
with  undisguised  admiration. 

"Ha,"  he  exclaimed,  beaming  through  his  spectacles, 

"that  is  the  work  of  a  gardener  ! " 


8     MARY'S  GARDEN   AND  HOW   IT   GREW 


The  little  girl  laughed  delightedly. 
"I  'm  going  to  be  a  gardener  when  I  grow  up," 
she  confided  a  moment  later,  "and  I  'm  going  to  have 
a  garden  just  like  yours,  and  a  big 
glass  house  like  yours,  and  roses  and 
palms  and  everything  in  it — " 

"Yes,  yes,"  broke  in  Mr.  Trommel ; 
"a  fine  ambition.  But  be  careful, 
little  one ;  you  are  pushing  the  plant 
crooked— you  must  pot  well  if  you 
would  have  a  fine  garden." 

Mary  repaired  the  mistake  with 
repentant  energy.     "What  kind   of 
plants     are    these,    Mr.    Trommel! 
You  did  n't  tell  me." 

"No?"  said  the  old  gardener,  inquiringly.    "It  is 
Daphne.     Do  you  know  the  story  about  Daphne  ?  " 
The  under-gardener  shook  her  head. 
"Daphne,  little  one,  was  once  a  beautiful  young 
lady.     She  was  what  they  call  a  nymph — that  is,  a 
kind  of  young  lady  that  lived  in  the  woods." 
"That  must  be  nice,"  put  in  his  listener. 
"Yes,  but  it  was  not  all  pleasant ;  for  once  one  of 
those  young  gods— the  one  they  called  Apollo— saw 
her,  and  he  tried  to  catch  her—" 


MR.  TROMMEL'S  ASSISTANT  9 

"Maybe  he  was  just  playing  tag,"  suggested  the 
owner  of  the  brown  eyes. 

"Perhaps,"  admitted  Mr.  Trommel  5  "but  Daphne 
was  frightened  and  hid  herself  in  a  great  hollow 
tree.  The  young  man  could  not  then  find  her.  But 
when  Daphne  wished  to  get  out  she  could  not— she 
was  become  a  tree.  That  was  what  Apollo  did  to 
her." 

"How  could  he?"  asked  the  under-gardener. 

uAch  I "  said  Mr.  Trommel ;  "he  was  a  very  power- 
ful young  man.  And  since  then  she  has  changed 
still  more  :  she  has  become  a  shrub.  See  ! "  and  he 
held  up  the  tiny  pot  in  his  hand ;  "we  will  have  to 
wait  some  years  for  this  one,  but  then  the  branches 
will  be  grown  and  the  first  thing  in  the  spring  they 
will  all  be  covered  with  the  dear  little  pink  blossoms 
—so  fragrant !  Ah,  you  must  come  and  see  Daphne 
then!" 

"Oh  !  I  will,"  said  Mary. 

They  worked  in  silence  for  a  few  minutes ;  the 
uuder-gardener  was  lost  in  thought.  "Mr.  Trommel," 
she  said  suddenly,  "why  could  n't  I  have  a  little 
garden  at  home,  in  a  box  in  the  window,  I  mean  ? 
Would  you  show  me  how  1 " 

"Yes,  yes,  we  shall  see,"  answered  the  old  man, 


10    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

"but  not  to-day ;  it  is  now  time  to  go  back,  or  you 
will  be  late  for  dinner.  Wash  your  hands  well  in  the 
tub  of  water,  Liebchen,  or  the  lady  mother  will  think 
that  gardeners  are  not  nice." 

"May  I  hang  my  apron  on  the  nail  here,"  asked 
Mary,  "next  to  where  you  hang  yours?  " 

"Yes,  yes ;  I  have  a  nail  put  lower  down  that  is 
easier  to  reach.  Have  you  found  it?  " 

"I  had  a  very  nice  time,  Mr.  Trommel,"  said  the 
under-gardener,  as  she  rose,  rather  breathless  from 
the  exertion  of  putting  on  her  rubbers. 

"It  is  good  to  have  help,"  responded  the  old  man. 
"Wait  a  minute,"  and  he  went  to  another  bench  and 
picked  a  small,  pale-pink  oxalis  blossom ;  "that  is 
for  the  lady  doll." 


CHAPTEK   II 

THE   ASSISTANT   AT  WORK 
[February] 

OF  course  on  the  sunshiny  days  there  were  other 
things  to  do,  but  every  rainy  afternoon  found 
Mary  across  the  street,  hard  at  work  in  the  big  green- 
house. One  of  the  nicest  things  to  do  was  to  spray 
the  plants  from  the  hose ;  it  is  much  more  interest- 
ing than  watering  with  a  little  watering-pot. 

"That  is  what  makes  the  palms  so  lovely  and 
green,  is  n't  it,  Mr.  Trommel  1  You  give  them  a  bath 
so  often." 

"That  is  right :  they  cannot  breathe  if  they  are 
not  clean ;  they  breathe  all  over  their  bodies,  not 
like  we  do,  through  a  mouth  and  nose." 

"Were  you  ever  away  in  the  country  where  you 
could  not  have  a  bath-tub,  and  instead  you  had  to  be 
sponged  all  over  for  your  bath?" 
11 


12  MAKY'S  GAKDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GEEW 

Mary  nodded. 

"Yes  j  well,  that  is  the  kind  of  bath  the  plants  must 
sometimes  have  when  they  are  in  your  house.  In 
their  own  house,  that  is,  in  the  greenhouse,  they 
have  things  to  their  liking,  and  they  have  the  shower- 
bath  or  the  spray,  as  they  need  ;  but  in  your  house, 
if  you  cannot  give  them  that,  you  must  just  take  a 
basin  and  a  little  water — not  too  cold — and  a  little 
sponge,  and  sponge  the  leaves  carefully  as  if  you  were 
washing  a  baby— then  they  can  breathe." 

"There,  there  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Trommel,  alarmed 
at  the  under-gardener's  abandon  in  the  use  of  the 
hose— "we  have  given  water  enough !  Sit  down 
here  by  me  and  watch  me  graft,  and  tell  me  about 
the  garden." 

" We-ell,"  began  Mary,  taking  a  long  breath,  "I  'm 
going  to  have  a  garden  all  my  own.  Father  says  I 
can  have  a  place  in  the  back  yard,  and  I  'm  going  to 
plant  everything  in  it — sweet  peas,  and  roses,  and 
nasturtiums,  and  pumpkins  to  make  jack-o'-lanterns 
of.  Could  n't  I  begin  it  now,  Mr.  Trommel  ?  " 

"It  is  not  yet  March,"  said  the  old  man,  medita- 
tively; "the  little  things  would  freeze  out  of  doors 
before  they  could  show  their  heads.  Besides,  we  can- 
not yet  dig  ;  we  could  only  plant  in  boxes  now." 


THE  ASSISTANT  AT  WORK  13 

"What  is  that  you  are  doing?  "  asked  Mary,  forget- 
ting her  garden  and  suddenly  interested  in  Mr. 
Trommel's  operations.  The  old  man  was 
sitting  by  a  low  bench,  and  had  in  front 
of  him  a  row  of  balls  of  earth  almost  as 
large  as  croquet-balls,  and  protruding  from 
each  one  was  what  looked  like  a  dead  brown 
stick.  "What  is  that?"  she  asked  again, 
as  Mr.  Trommel  picked  up  one  of  these 
unmeaning-looking  balls. 

"This  is  grafting,"  he  answered.  "This 
in  my  hand,  this  is  the  stock."  He  held 
it  wedged  between  his  knees  while  he 
selected  a  smooth,  green,  prosperous- 
looking  young  shoot  from  a  few  he  had  laid  beside 
him,  "and  this,  this  is  the  scion,  that  is,  the  baby 
he  must  adopt."  He  held  the  little  twig  be- 
tween his  lips.  "See,  I  make  a  little  slice 
off  the  stock — that  is,  the  papa — so."  He 
laid  it  aside,  and  took  the  young  shoot 
again  in  his  hand ;  "then  I  take  a  little  slice 
off  the  baby — so"  (suiting  the  action  to  the 
word  and  making  a  clean,  smooth  cut  with 
his  knife).  He  took  up  the  stock  again,  and  the  two 
cut  surfaces  fitted  together  beautifully  ;  holding  them 


14  MAKY'S  GAKDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GKEW 


with  thumb  and  finger,  he  pulled  a  strand  of 
raffia  from  the  bunch  thrust  through  his  apron- 
strings  and  began  to  wind  it  around  the  two  as 
carefully  as  if  he  were  ban- 
daging a  limb.  "I  tie  them 
together— so. 

"Now,"  said  Mr.  Trommel, 
"   7-#v~te        and  gave  a  little 
/v0  <~/vf9«v^    grunt  as  he  fas- 
tened the  raffia 
r#e-~        string,  "the  papa 
**v/v«>  win  have  to  pro- 
vide for  the  little  one.   All 
that  he  gets  to  eat  from 
the    soil    goes    to    make 
the    baby    fat.     He    can 
have   no    pretty    clothes, 
no  flowers  on  — the  child 
has  it  all ;    he  must  just 
work,     work,     send    out 
roots,  and  find  something 
to  eat.     It  is  a  hard  life 
for  the  stock." 
"Does  n't  the  little  branch  do  anything?"  asked 
Mary. 


THE  ASSISTANT  AT  WORK  15 

"No  ;  the  little  one  just  lives  off  the  papa,  grows 
big,  and  looks  pretty— that  is  all." 

"Let  me  do  one/'  coaxed  the  little  girl. 

"No,  no,"  said  the  old  gardener,  hastily.  "  The 
knife  is  big  for  you,  and  you  might  get  hurt ;  be- 
sides, I  wish  them  to  grow.  Let  us  talk 
about  the  garden." 

"We-ell,"    began    the    under-gardener 
again,  "it  's  going  to  be  in  the  back  yard, 
and  father  says  I  can  have  all  the  ground 
I  want  at  the  back   of  the  yard,  but  I 
must  n't  go  where  Norah  hangs  the  clothes, 
and  I  'm  going  to  have  a  beautiful 
garden.     Do  you  think  I  could  make  a 
greenhouse  like  yours?  "  she  suggested. 

"That  would  take  some  time,  little 
one  ;  besides,  one  does  not  want  a  green- 
house in  the  summer,  when  one  can  be 
outdoors.  You  should  have  a  pretty  little  garden, 
and  some  garden-seats,  yes  !  And  perhaps  a  summer- 
house  for  the  lovely  doll,  yes?  and  pretty  flowers  all 
around  that  will  not  be  much  trouble— and  little 
paths  that  are  not  for  big  folks  among  the  little 
flower-beds—" 

The  brown  eyes  widened  with  delight.  "Oh,  yes  ! " 


16  MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

breathed  the  under-gardener,  ecstatically  —  "that 
would  be  bea-yu-tiful.  And  we  could  do  it,  could  n't 
we  ?  "  she  asked  eagerly. 

"We  are  both  such  fine  gardeners,  Liebchen,"  said 
the  old  man,  "that  if  the  Heir  Papa  will  but  give 
us  the  laud,  undoubtedly  we  could." 


CHAPTEE  III 

PLANTING  IN  BOXES 
[March] 

A  RE  N'T  we  going  to  plant  the  boxes,  Mr.  Trom- 
-£~^-  mel?"  coaxed  Mary.  "You  said  'in  a  few 
days/  and  that  was  yesterday." 

Herr  Trommel  laughed.  "Liebchen,"  he  said 
solemnly,  "I  fear  you  will  grow  to  be  the  landscape- 
architect,  as  these  Americans  call  -a  gardener.  Al- 
ready you  have  the  passion  for  immediate  effect. 
Why  not  wait  and  plant  the  seeds  in  the  ground, 
and  then  the  liebe  Gott  will  help  take  care  of  them. 
If  you  have  them  in  your  house  you  will  forget  to 
give  the  little  things  a  drink,  and  they  will  die." 

"I  think  I  could  remember  them  better  if  we  left 
them  over  here.  I  never  forget  to  water  things  over 
here,  Mr.  Trommel,"  said  Mary  earnestly. 

"Well,  well;  it  is  now  March.  We  will  make 
2  17 


18  MAKY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GKEW 

ready  the  boxes  to-day.  Have  you  the  seeds? 
Then  you  shall  bring  them  over  and  we  will  start  the 
babies  growing.  See  if  you  can  find  three  boxes 
under  that  bench  yonder." 

The  under-gardeuer  crawled  with  alacrity  under 
the  bench,  and  brought  out,  one  after  another,  three 
shallow  boxes,  each  two  feet  long  and  a  foot  wide, 
but  not  more  than  three  inches  deep. 

"That  is  right ;  now  you  must  fill  them." 

But  before  he  had  finished  speaking,  one  of  the 
boxes  was  on  the  potting-bench,  and  the  small  brown 
hands  were  rapidly  scooping  up  the  earth  and  filling  it. 

"Hold!  Wait  a  bit!  Not  so  fast !»  exclaimed 
Mr.  Trommel.  "You  must  mix  a  little  sand  with 
that  soil— it  is  too  rich  for  the  babies ;  it  must  be 
nourishing,  but  ifor  the  very  little  ones  it  must  also 
be  plain ;  half  sand  is  not  too  much."  He  scooped 
with  his  big  hand  some  sand  from  another  bench, 
threw  it  into  Mary's  half-filled  box,  then  bent  down 
and  took  from  under  the  bench  a  shallow  square  box 
with  a  bottom  of  wire  netting ;  this  he  placed  over 
one  of  the  empty  boxes.  "It  is  better  to  sift  it 
again,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  let  me  do  it,"  begged  the  under-gardener. 
"It  is  just  like  making  cookies." 


" '  IT  is  BETTER  TO  SIFT  IT  AGAIN,'  HE  SAID  ' 


20  MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

She  sifted  the  sand  and  earth,  giving  the  box  little 
professional  shakes,  until  it  was  full  of  the  fine,  soft 
earth  and  perfectly  level. 

"This  is  ever  so  much  nicer  than  the  dirt  I  have 
in  my  garden.  It  would  make  lovely  mud-pies," 
said  Mary,  passing  a  chubby  brown  hand  reflectively 
over  the  fine  soil.  "  What  makes  it  so  much  nicer, 
Mr.  Trommel  t  Don't  the  seeds  like  the  other  kind  ?  " 

"That  is  fine  soil,"  said  the  old  gardener.  "It  is 
sifted ;  it  is  rich,  for  the  fertilizer  is  well  mixed  in ; 
so  it  is  better  for  the  little  ones.  Does  the  lady 
mama  ever  cut  your  meat  for  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"She  used  to,"  admitted  the  under-gardener. 

"Yes," said  Mr. Trommel;  "that  is  because  you  were 
yet  a  little  girl ;  now  you  are  larger  you  will  cut  it 
always  for  yourself.  On  the  plants  that  we  shall  have 
here  the  roots  are  little ;  they  cannot  take  and  eat 
the  big  lumps  as  the  trees  can  j  we  must  make  it 
small.  I  sift  it  many  times ;  then  it  is  nice  for  the 
little  roots  that  cannot  take  big  mouthfuls." 

"I  understand,"  said  the  assistant.  "Now  I'll  run 
home  and  get  the  seeds." 

"Here    they    are,    Mr.    Trommel!"    cried    Mary, 
coming  in  flushed  and  breathless,  her  hat  a-dangle 


PLANTING   IN   BOXES  21 

at  the  back  of  her  neck.  "I  ran  'most  all  the 
way." 

Mr.  Trommel  put  down  his  watering-pot  and 
laughed.  "Ach!  what  a  rush  we  are  in!  The 
plants  will  not  make  haste  for  you  like  that !  " 

The  under-gardener  laid  the  package  on  the  bench 
and  tugged  at  the  string.  "I  wanted  to  get  a  packet 
of  every  kind  there  was,  but  my  money  gave  out," 
she  explained,  "and  I  had  fifty  cents  saved  from 
Christmas.  There  's  nasturtiums  and  chrysanthe- 
mums and  sunflowers  and  poppies  and  asters  and 
sweet  peas  and  marigolds  and  hollyhocks,"  she  enu- 
merated proudly,  counting  over  one  by  one  the  gaily 
colored  seed  packets.  "Can't  we  plant  them  right 
now?"  she  finished,  standing  on  tiptoe  and  stretch- 
ing over  the  bench  to  pull  one  of  the  boxes  within 
easy  reach. 

"The  haste  of  the  young  American!"  said  Mr. 
Trommel.  "  You  will  have  them  all  planted  in  the 
boxes  before  I  see  what  you  have.  We  had  better 
save  some  of  the  seeds  to  plant  in  the  ground,"  he 
said  persuasively.  "The  three  boxes  we  have  pre- 
pared will  be  enough  to  care  for,  and  a  good  gardener 
puts  only  one  kind  of  seeds  in  a  box,  that  they  do  not 
be  mixed." 


22   MARY'S 'GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

Mary  looked  a  bit  depressed. 

"Perhaps  you  would  like  to  plant  some  in  a  box 
at  home,  and  let  them  grow  in  a  window,  if  you  are 
in  so  great  haste,"  suggested  Mr.  Trommel. 

But  the  assistant  still  looked  troubled.  "I  was 
going  to  plant  some  in  the  house,"  she  said.  "I  got 
a  box  and  fixed  the  soil  just  as  we  did  yesterday.  I 
could  n't  dig  up  any  in  the  yard,  but  there  was  a 
flower-pot  in  the  house,  and  the  plant  was  all  dead, 
so  I  took  that. 

"Your  sieve  must  be  different  from  ours,  Mr.  Trom- 
mel ;  I  tried  the  sieve  from  the  flour-barrel,  and 
-  the  dirt  would  n't  go  through  it ;  but  the  colander 
worked  nicely  ;  and  I  was  getting  the  bdx  filled  just 
like  these,  but  Norah  came  in  and  made  an  awful 
fuss  because,  she  said,  I  got  her  sieve  all  dirty,  and 
she  opened  the  window  and  threw  out  all  the  nice 
sifted  earth ! " 

Mr.  Trommel  shook  his  head  sympathetically. 

"She  was  real  cross,"  went  on  the  under-gardener. 
"I  '11  tell  you  just  what  she  said.  '  Planting  gardens 
is  it1?'— that  's  what  she  said— 'It  's  just  mussing  in 
the  dirt  that  all  childer  be  after,  and  old  Trommel 
should  be  transported  for  putting  you  up  to  it'  — 
that%'s  just  what  she  said.  What 's  'transported,' 


PLANTING   IN   BOXES  23 

Mr.  Trommel1?"  and  the  under-gardener  fixed  two 
grave  brown  eyes  on  the  shining  spectacles. 

The  old  man  meditated  a  moment.  "It  is  'de- 
lighted/ "  he  said  ;  "it  is  '  very  happy.'  In  the  stories 
when  the  fine  young  man  sees  the  beautiful  young 
princess  they  say  he  was  '  transported  with  joy.'  " 

"Oh ! "  said  Mary  thoughtfully,  "then  I  will  for- 
give Norah  for  saying  it  about  you.  But— but  I 
think  we  'd  better  just  start  the  seeds  here." 

"Yes,  yes,"  agreed  Herr  Trommel;  "the  three 
boxes  will  be  all  you  can  well  take  care  of.  Let  us 
think.  Suppose  we  take  the  holly- 
hocks first ;  they  have  to  grow  for 
so  long  before  they  can  bloom ;  it 
is  right  to  give  them  the  first  chance 
—a  head  start,  do  you  call  it  ?  Yes. 
And  the  asters,  and  the  marigolds, 
yes  ?  Those  sweet  peas  and  the  nas- 
turtiums, they  go  'way  down  deep— 
they  will  do  as  well  to  wait  and  start 
outside.  The  sunflowers  also,  they  do  not  like  to  be 
moved  ;  they  better  go  outside,  too." 

Mr.  Trommel  pulled  one  of  the  boxes  toward  the 
edge  of  the  bench,  and,  with  a  piece  of  lath  for  a 
ruler  and  a  pointed  stick  for  a  pencil,  he  drew  lines 


24  MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

lightly  across  the  smooth  earth  of  the  freshly  filled 
box,  as  if  he  were  ruling  a  slate  for  writing,  only 
these  lines  were  an  inch  apart. 

"Now,  little  one,  drop  the  seeds  in  one  at  a  time 
along  these  lines." 

"My  mama,  when  she  put  seeds  in  a  box,  just  scat- 
tered them  all  over,"  objected  Mary. 

"The  lady  mama,"  said  Mr.  Trommel,  "is  a  most 
excellent  lady,  but— she  is  not  a  professional  gar- 
dener." 

"Like  you  and  me1?  "  asked  the  under-gardener. 

"Yes,  yes ;  not  a  professional  like  you  or  me. 
You  see,  mine  assistant,  we  cannot  begin  too  early  to 
teach  the  little  plants  to  be  orderly  and  not  play 
with  the  bad  plant-children— that  is,  the  little  weeds. 
We  plant  them  this  way  so  that  they  get  not  mixed 
when  they  are  very  small. 

"Now  press  the  seeds  down  lightly.  No,  no  !  Not 
so— very  gently"  ;  for  the  under-gardener  had  begun 
to  pat  with  vigor. 

"Now  we  water  them,  don't  we?"  she  asked. 
"Just  sprinkle  with  the  little  watering-pot?  " 

"Yes,  but  wet  them  well  this  first  time ;  and  re- 
member, little  one,  we  must  not  let  the  little  things 
get  quite  dry.  These  babies  cannot  eat  much  yet ; 


PLANTING   IN  BOXES  25 

they  drink  and  drink,  not  much  at  a  time,  but  often  ; 
they  must  have  the  liquid  food,  as  the  doctors  say. 
Also  they  must  be  kept  warm.  So  you  must  not 
forget  them." 


CHAPTEE  IV 

CROCUSES   AND   THE  SNOWDROP 

[March] 

"TVTY  little  crocuses  are  J115*  awake,"  said  Mr. 
-lJ-1-  Trommel  to  Mary,  who  had  stopped  at  his  gate 
on  the  way  to  school.  "You  want  to  come  and  look 
at  them!" 

The  under-gardener  promptly  hung  her  school-bag 
on  a  picket  of  the  fence. 

"You  are  sure  there  is  time?  "  he  questioned,  be- 
fore he  opened  the  gate.  "I  must  not  make  you  late 
for  school  j  that  is  a  dreadful  thing." 

"I  'm  very  early,"  assured  Mary.  "I  was  just 
going  'way  around  by  Margaret's  house.  There  's  lots 
of  time." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Mr.  Trommel,  "the  little  crocuses 
are  awake.  But  you  have  not  seen  my  snowdrops, 
either.  Run  down  the  path  and  you  will  find  them 
-there ! " 

26 


CROCUSES   AND   THE  SNOWDROP       27 

"In  front  of  this  pussy-willow  ?" 

"Pussy-willow,  indeed!"  exclaimed  Herr  Trom- 
mel, indignantly.  "That  is  a  Japanese  magnolia — 
that  is  Magnolia-stellata.  The  buds  wear  the  fur  hoods, 
it  is  true,  but  they  are  fatter,  and  the 
fur  is  finer.  They  are  no  pussy- 
willows ! " 

But  Mary  was  bending  over  the 
infant  crocuses,  that  were  just  begin- 
ning to  show  their  gold.  "Are  n't 
they  darlings  ! "  she  said. 

"Do  you  know  where  they  get  the 
gold  from1?"  asked  Mr.  Trommel. 
"No  ?  It  is  some  of  the  Nibelungen. 
gold  that  the  Rhine  maidens  stole  away  from  Alberich. 
You  know  that  the  Mother  Earth,  Erda,  takes  care 
of  it,  and  she  wished  to  put  it  where  it  would  do 
no  harm,  so  she  gave  some  of  it  to  the  little  cro- 
cuses to  keep,  and  now  that  the  crocuses  have  it, 
men  may  love  it  and  it  does  them  no  harm ;  they  do 
not  quarrel  nor  fight  over  it  any  more. 

"Come  and  let  us  find  the  snowdrops.  Ah,  they 
are  the  darlings!"  he  said,  kneeling  down  in  the 
dead  brown  grass,  where  groups  of  the  dainty  blos- 
soms had  pushed  up  through  the  earth  and  were  nod- 


28  MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

ding  joyously  in  the  rough  March  wind.  "It  is  a 
dear  one,  this  first  baby  of  the  year,  so  dainty — and 
so  brave,  too  !  " 

"Could  n't  I  have  one  ?  "  begged  the  under-gardener. 

"Certainly,  certainly,  little  one— yes,  yes ;  take  a 
little  bunch  of  them.  But  I  like  better,  myself,  to 
look  at  them  here.  See  how  dainty  the  little  stalks 
are— so  strong,  yet  so  slight ;  and  see  how  prettily 
the  little  bell  is  balanced,  and  look  inside  the  pretty 
bell  and  see  the  fine  little  lines  of  green— is  it  not 
lovely?" 

"How  does  it  ever  come  up  through  the  ground 
without  getting  a  bit  mussed?  "  asked  Mary,  looking 
wonderingly  at  the  slender  little  flower. 

"You  see  that  white  tip  at  the  end  of  the  leaf? 
It  is  very  hard." 

Mary  nodded. 

"Yes.  Well,  when  it  is  ready  to  come  up  through 
the  ground,  the  leaf  is  folded  and  rolled  tightly,  and 
the  little  snowdrop  is  curled  safe  inside,  and  the 
hard,  white  point  of  the  leaf  pushes  and  bores  its 
way  through  the  earth  ;  that  is  the  way  it  comes  up. 
Do  you  know  the  story  about  the  snowdrop?" 

"No,  I  never  heard  it.  Tell  me,  Mr.  Trommel," 
she  begged. 


CROCUSES   AND   THE   SNOWDROP       29 

"Well,"  said  the  old  gardener,  meditatively,  "the 
snowdrop  was  once  a  little  snow  maiden.  You  have 
heard,  perhaps,  of  the  Little  People  of  the  Snow? 
Yes?" 

The  listener  nodded  eagerly.  "Oh,  yes,  I  know 
all  about  them  ;  it  was  a  snow  maiden  that  Eva  went 
with— a  fairy  creature 

'  With  lily  cheeks  and  floating  flaxen  hair, 
And  eyes  as  blue  as  ice.' 

They  used  to  come  down,  from  the  high  mountains  in 
the  winter. 

'  With  trailing  garments  through  the  air  they  came, 
Or  walked  the  ground  with  girded  loins,  and  threw 
Spangles  of  silvery  frost  upon  the  grass, 
And  edged  the  brook  with  glistening  parapets, 
And  built  it  crystal  bridges,  touched  the  pool, 
And  turned  its  face  to  glass.' 

Don't  you  remember  ?  And  Eva  met  the  little  Snow 
maiden  by  the  big  linden  and  went  with  her." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Trommel.  "Well,  the  snow- 
drop was  once  one  of  those  little  people,  and  she 
lived  in  a  wonderful  snow  palace." 

"I  know  about  them,  too,"  broke  in  the  listener, 
with  shining  eyes.  "The  Snow  maiden  took  Eva  in 


30  MAKY'S  GAEDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GEEW 

and  showed  it  to  her,  and  she  saw  the  wonderful 
dance  through  the  window  of— of '  pellucid  ice  '—and 
she  said,  'Look,  but  thou  mayst  not  enter!'  and 
there  were  gardens  and  trees  and  flowers,"  she  went 
on  breathlessly,  "and  all 

'  seemed  wrought 
Of  stainless  alabaster.' " 

The  old  gardener  smiled.  "Yes.  Well,  little  one, 
there  was  once  a  fine  young  knight  imprisoned  under 
the  snow  palace;  he  did  not  belong  to  the  little 
Snow  People  ;  he  was  one  of  Mother  Earth's  children. 
His  name  was  Galanthus,  and  he  wore  a  suit  of  beau- 
tiful green  armor. 

"One  day  the  little  Snow  maiden  found  him  there, 
in  the  dungeon  under  the  palace,  and  she  was  sorry 
for  him.  So  every  day  she  crept  down  to  the  dun- 
geon, and  the  young  knight  told  her  stories  of  his 
Mother  Earth  and  the  wonderful  things  she  did, 
which  the  little  Snow  maiden  had  never  heard  of. 

"Now,  you  know  the  spring  is  death  to  the  little 
Snow  People  ;  before  a  breath  of  warmth  touches  the 
snow  they  are  frightened,  and  rush  and  hurry  to  the 
high  mountains,  where  there  is  snow  and  cold  all 
the  year.  But  the  little  Snow  maiden  forgot  about 


CROCUSES  AND  THE  SNOWDROP       31 

the  south  wind.  She  was  in  the  dungeon  with  the 
green  knight,  listening  to  the  stories  she  loved,  when 
suddenly  the  walls  of  the  snow  palace  began  to  trem- 
ble and  fall.  It  was  the  breath  of  the  south  wind. 
The  little  Snow  maiden  knew  it  was  death  ;  she  was 
frightened,  and  trembled  and  wept.  Then  the 
knight  Galanthus  took  her  in  his  arms  j  but  it  was 
of  no  use :  in  a  moment  he  was  changed,  too.  The 
beautiful  green  armor  became  dull  and  brown,  and 
the  knight  was  as  if  he  was  dead.  But  he  still  held 
the  little  Snow  maiden  in  his  arms,  and  they  sank 
together  into  the  ground,  down,  down  ! 

"Now,  the  ground  is  a  wonderful  place,  and  the 
Mother  Earth  was  sorry  for  the  little  Snow  maiden 
because  she  had  lost  her  playmates  ;  so  she  promised 
her  that  she  might  go  back  to  the  light  again  to  find 
them. 

"So  every  year  the  little  snowdrop  comes  up  from 
the  earth.  She  must  wait  all  the  winter  until  Galan- 
thus can  push  his  way  through  the  ground  ;  and  as 
soon  as  he  can  he  lifts  the  little  Snow  maiden  in  his 
arms,  and  he  folds  her  close  in  his  green  cloak,  so  she 
is  not  frightened  ;  then  he  takes  his  green  lance  with 
the  silver  point  and  pushes  his  way  up  to  the  light. 

"But  the  Snow  maiden  is  always  just  too  late  :  the 


32  MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

Little  People  of  the  Snow  are  gone.  She  is  sorry ; 
that  is  why  the  snowdrop  hangs  her  head." 

The  under-gardener  drew  a  long  breath,  and  the 
two  walked  up  the  path  to  the  gate  in  silence.  She 
took  her  school-bag  from  the  fence-picket.  "I  know 
now  why  the  snowdrop  has  the  little  streaks  of 
green  'way  inside  the  bell,"  she  said. 

"Yes  ?  "  said  Mr.  Trommel,  inquiringly. 

"It  is  the  knight's  color.  In  the  stories,  you 
know,  the  knight  always  wears  the  princess's  color. 
But  the  little  Snow  maiden  loved  Galanthus,  and  so 
she  wore  his  color.  Of  course  she  would  n't  wear  it 
outside,  for  it  is  n't  the  thing ;  so  she  fastened  the 
green  'way  inside  the  little  bell,  where  nobody 
could  see  it.  And  she  really  does  n't  care  that  she 
has  lost  the  Little  People  of  the  Snow.  Even  if  she 
does  hang  her  head,  she  does  n't  look  a  bit  sorry. 
She  would  rather  stay  with  Galanthus." 

"I  believe  you  are  right,  Liebchen,"  said  the  old 


CHAPTER  V 

MAKING   CUTTINGS 
[March] 

"TS  N'T  there  something  else  we  can  do  for  my  gar- 
-•-  den  ?  "  asked  Mary.  It  was  a  rainy  day  late  in 
March,  and  some  of  the  seeds  were  so  very  leisurely 
in  coming  up  that  the  under-gardener  was  beginning 
to  feel  the  discomfort  of  hope  deferred. 

"Um-m-m,"  said  Herr  Trommel,  reflectively,  as 
he  wound  the  raffia-string  about  the  young  azalea 
he  was  grafting.  "I  tell  you,  little  one,"  he  said, 
after  a  few  minutes'  thought,  "you  will  be  having  the 
borders  to  your  flower-beds ;  the  box  would  be  too 
slow  for  you— yes?  We  will  make  a  tiny  little  low 
hedge  of  privet — " 

The  under-gardener  was  immediately  interested. 

"Yes,"  went  on  Mr.  Trommel ;  "and  if  you  can  be 
very  careful  with  the  big  knife,  you  shall  make  the 
cuttings." 

3  33 


34  MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

"I  will  be  very  careful,"  assured  the  under-gar- 
dener.  "Will  it  be  a  real  hedge,  that  I  can  trim 
myself? " 

"Yes,  yes,  if  the  lady  mama  will  lend  you  her 


scissors." 

"I  have  scissors  of  my  own,"  said  Mary,  with 
dignity. 

Mr.  Trommel  left  the  greenhouse  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  came  back  with  a  bundle  of 
privet  branches  in  his  hand— about  a  yard 
long.  "I  cut  them  this  morning  to  start  a  little 
hedge  for  myself,  but  you  shall  have  some ;  old 
Trommel  can  wait,"  he  said,  as  he  cut  the  string 
of  the  bundle  and  picked  up  one  of  the  branches. 
"Now  look  carefully,"  and  he  cut  about  an 
inch  off  the  thicker  end  of  the  branch,  "just 
below  the  'eye.'  See?  That  is  the  end  that 
goes  in  the  ground.  Now,"  and  he  made  another 
quick,  clean  cut,  leaving  in  his  left  hand  a  bit 
of  the  privet  branch  three  inches  long,  "just 
above  the  '  eye  '—that  is,  the  top.  Some  people, 
just  because  privet  will  grow,  whatever  you  do  to  it, 
they  take  the  shears  and  chop,  chop,  cut  off  square,  as 
if  they  would  make  fodder  for  cattle  5  but  the  good 
gardener  takes  the  knife  and  makes  the  slanting  cut 


MAKING   CUTTINGS  35 

just  below  the  'eye'  at  the  bottom,  just  above  the 
'  eye '  at  the  top.  Sometimes,  when  we  put  them  in  the 
ground  right  at  once,  not  in  the  sand  on  the  bench, 
we  make  them  longer — twice  as  long ;  but  that  is 
long  enough  for  you.  Now,"  and  he  handed  her  his 
knife,  "you  make  one." 

"Why  do  you  call  those  little  bumps  on  the  stick 
'  eyes '  I "  questioned  the  under-gardener,  as  she  took 
the  branch  from  Mr.  Trommel. 

"Why  do  we  call  them  'eyes'?"  repeated  the 
old  German.  "I  think  it  is  because  they  are  the 
little  windows  that  the  little  leaves  can  peek  out  of 
when  they  are  looking  to  see  if  it  is  warm  enough 
to  come  out." 

"Oh,"  said  Mary,  comprehendingly. 

"Ah,  that  is  nice,"  said  Mr.  Trommel,  looking  ap- 
provingly at  the  cutting  which  Mary  held  up  for  in- 
spection ;  "that  is  right.  Be  careful  that  you  lay 
the  little  cuttings  all  the  same  way,  Liebchen,  else  you 
will  be  putting  some  little  fellow  in  the  sand  head 
first" 

The  small  fingers  worked  assiduously. 

"No,  no,"  said  Mr.  Trommel,  as  she  came,  in  the 
cutting-making  process,  to  the  thin  end  of  the 
branch ;  "throw  that  away.  That  is  too  little,  too 


36  MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

weak  j  it  is  not  strong  enough  to  start  out  for  itself. 
You  see,  little  one,  we'  take  the  cuttings  from  the 
wood  that  is  young  and  strong.  Do  you  know  that 
it  is  hard  to  move  old  people — they  do  not  like  to 
try  the  new  place  ?  No 1  So  we  cannot  make  cut- 
tings of  the  old  wood ;  they  do  not  like  to  try  the 
new  way  of  life  :  they  will  not  strike  out  for  them- 
selves. And  we  cannot  make  them  of  the  very  young 
wood,  either ;  then  they  are  too  weak  to  work  for 
themselves.  They  should  be  about  one  year  old. 

"Come,  now.  Stand  up  on  the  box  and  I  will 
show  you  how  we  put  them  in  the  sand.  I  take  my 
ruler  and  my  pointed  stick,  and  I  draw  a  line — so — 
from  the  back  of  the  bench  to  the  edge." 

"I  think  if  I  get  up  on  the  bench,"  suggested 
Mary,  "that  I  can  see  much  better."  So  she 
perched  on  the  edge  of  the  bench  and  watched  Mr. 
Trommel  attentively. 

"I  poke  a  hole  with  the  stick— so,"  said  Mr.  Trom- 
mel, illustrating  as  he  went  on  ;  "I  put  the  little  cut- 
ting in— so— till  he  is  half  in  ;  then  I  press  the  soil 
down— so,"  he  went  on  rapidly,  putting  in  one  after 
another  in  the  firm,  damp  sand. 

"Let  me— let  me  ! "  begged  Mary. 

"Well,  well,"  assented  Mr.  Trommel,  resigning  his 


MAKING   CUTTINGS  37 

pointed  stick.  "Carefully,  now,  and  press  the  soil 
down— so.  After  they  are  all  in  we  must  water 
them  well." 

"Would  they  grow  for  me,  Mr.  Trommel,"  asked 
Mary,  "if  I  just  cut  some  branches  from  our  hedge 
and  made  the  cuttings  and  put  them  in  a  box  in  the 
house?" 

"They  will  grow  for  anybody,"  answered  the  old 
man.  "Just  put  them  not  in  the  sun  for  three  or 
four  days,  till  they  have  a  little  time  to  think,  and 
then  in  the  sun.  They  would  grow,  too,  if  we  waited 
until  it  is  a  little  warmer,  and  then  put  them  in  the 
ground  in  the  garden,  instead  of  starting  them  here 
in  the  house." 


CHAPTER  VI 

BEGINNING  THE  GARDEN 
[April] 

MARY  had  just  finished  her  breakfast  and  was 
leaning  back  in  her  chair,  engaged  in  blissful 
meditation.  It  was  the  Easter  vacation,  and  you 
did  n't  have  to  think  about  going  to  school  the 
minute  breakfast  was  over ;  besides,  were  not  she 
and  Mr.  Trommel  to  mark  out  the  garden  to-day  ? 

"Mary,"  said  Mr.  Maxwell,  interrupting  the  brown 
study,  "when  are  you  and  Trommel  going  to  stake 
out  that  wonderful  garden  patch  T  " 

"My  garden  isn't  a  ' patch,'"  objected  Mary; 
"it 's  going  to  be  paths,  and  little  flower-beds,  and  all 
inclosed." 

"Inclosed?"  queried  her  father. 

"Yes  ;  Mr.  Trommel  said  a  wall  would  be  nice,  but 
that  would  take  too  long  to  make ;  so  we  're  going 
38 


BEGINNING  THE   GAKDEN  39 

to  take  some  chicken-wire  that  he  has  at  his  house 
and  inclose  the  garden  that  way.  Mr.  Trommel 
says,"  announced  Mary,  "that  there  are  two  things 
you  ought  to  have  in  a  garden :  one  is  beauty,  and 
the  other  is— the  other  is—  "  she  stopped  perplexed. 

"Vegetables?"  suggested  her  father. 

"No;  that  was  n't  it.  Oh,  I  know— l seclusion  '  j 
that 's  what  he  said,  and  that 's  what  the  chicken- 
wire  is  for." 

"That  is  its  use  in  the  chicken-runs,"  assented 
Mr.  Maxwell ;  "but  the  beauty  is  n't  so  prominent." 

"Oh,  but  it 's  going  to  be  all  covered  with  vines 
and  nasturtiums— just  you  wait  and  see  !  There  is 
Mr.  Trommel  now,  father ! "  she  cried  suddenly, 
jumping  up  and  running  to  the  window. 

Sure  enough,  ther"e  was  the  short,  square  figure  of 
the  old  gardener.  Not  in  the  customary  shirt- 
sleeves and  apron — by  no  means !  His  coat  was 
carefully  buttoned  in  its  Sunday  fashion,  and,  dis- 
daining Mary's  well-worn  short  cut,  he  was  walking 
around  the  block  to  enter  at  the  front  gate. 

Mary  ran  to  meet  him. 

"Half  of  that  space  at  the  back  of  the  yard  will 
be  enough  for  the  child's  garden,  will  it  not,  Herr 


40  MABY'S  GAKDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

Trommel?"  asked  Mary's  father,  as  the  three  stood 
surveying  the  back  yard.  "Which  side  is  the 
better?" 

"Um-m-m  ! "  said  Mr.  Trommel,  reflectively.  "She 
better  have  this  corner.  The  tall  fence  will  keep 
off  the  wind  on  the  north,  and  the  fence  at  the  side 
will  keep  off  the  wind  from  the  west.  And  if  she 
have  half,  you  say  ?  That  will  be  about  fifteen  feet 
wide  and  twenty  feet  long ;  that  should  be  garden 
enough." 

"To  here,  then,"  said  Mr.  Maxwell,  driving  a 
stake  at  a  safe  distance  from  Norah's  clothes-poles ; 
"that  ought  to  be  a  large  enough  garden  to  keep 
you  out  of  mischief,  Mary,  especially  if  you  are  in- 
closed in  wire  netting." 

"There  's  going  to  be  a  gate,  is  n't  there,  Mr. 
Trommel  ?  "  appealed  Mary. 

"Certainly,  there  will  be  a  fine  little  gate," 
affirmed  he. 

"I  suppose  you  '11  need  some  fertilizer  here,  Mr. 
Trommel?"  said  Mary's  father.  "I  told  John 
Quinlan  to  bring  two  wheelbarrowfuls.  He  is  com- 
ing to  do  the  digging.  Will  that  be  enough  ?  " 

"This  soil  is  not  so  bad,"  said  Mr.  Trommel, 
poking  it  judicially  with  his  stick  j  "two  barrows 


BEGINNING   THE   GARDEN  41 

full  of  good  manure  should  give  plenty  for  the  little 
border-bed.  An  inch  deep  over  the  beds  should  be 
enough." 

"Quinlan  will  be  here  to  do  the  work  for  you. 
Will  you  excuse  me  if  I  leave  now,  Mr.  Trommel  ? 
I  shall  have  to  run  for  my  train." 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  said  Herr  Trommel,  making 
his  precise  little  bow. 

"Now,  little  one,"  he  said  to  the  under-gardener, 
"we  will  to  work."  He  took  a  two-foot  rule  from 
his  pocket  and  measured  along  the  back  fence  from 
the  corner.  "Twelve,  fourteen,  fifteen,"  he  counted. 
"Hand  me  the  stake  there— so,"  and  he  drove  it  in 
the  ground.  "Now  hold  you  this  end  of  string  here 
at  the  stake  while  I  draw  it  to  the  fence-corner  to 
get  the  distance  with  the  string — so.  Now"  (he  held 
it  in  one  hand)  "walk  along  to  the  Herr  Papa's 
stake,  so,  and  let  us  see  if  it  is  the  fifteen  feet. 
Good !  The  Herr  Papa  did  not  make  the  bad  guess. 
This  is  a  lady's  way  of  measuring,  but  it  will  do  for  us. 
Now  we  stretch  the  string  between  these  stakes— so." 

Mary  was  deeply  interested.  "Now  we  are  going 
to  mark  out  a  flower-bed,  are  n't  we  t "  she  asked, 
when  the  garden  inclosure  was  outlined  with  stick 
and  string. 


42  MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

"Yes,  yes;  now  we  mark  out  the  border."  He 
scrutinized,  the  under-gardener  a  moment.  "Two 
feet  will  be  wide  enough  for  you  to  reach,  little  one. 
Can  you  find  another  of  the  stakes  I  brought,  and 
we  will  mark  it  for  the  good  John." 

"Let  me  do  it  this  time ! "  coaxed  the  under- 
gardener. 

"Very  well ;  you  shall  drive  the  stakes,  but  we 
better  let  the  old  Peter  measure— so.  Two  feet 
from  the  side  and  two  feet  from  the  back.  Now  we 
will  tie  the  string  to  one  stake  and  pull  it  tight  to 
the  other,  so  that  the  good  John—" 

"Will  trip?"  suggested  the  under-gardener. 
"What  fun ! " 

"No,  no!  What  a  thought  for  a  good  child  to 
have!  So  that  the  good  John  will  cut  the  turf 
straight." 

"Where  do  I  be  after  puttin'  the  manure,  sor?" 
called  the  big  Irishman  who  was  wheeling  his  bar- 
row toward  the  prospective  garden. 

"He  may  put  it  in  the  papa's  garden,  you  think? " 
asked  Mr.  Trommel  of  his  assistant. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Mary. 

"Come,  then,  John,  and  see  where  you  must  dig," 
said  Mr.  Trommel,  as  the  wheelbarrow  was  emptied 


BEGINNING  THE  GARDEN 


43 


across  the  line  from  Mary's  garden.  "I  superintend  for 
Mr.  Maxwell  the  making  of  the  little  lady's  garden. 
Do  you  see  the  lines  made  with  the  string?" 

"Whativer  is  it?" 

"It 's  a  garden,"  said  Mary,  in  an  aggrieved  voice  j 
"and  it 's  going  to  be  beautiful — it 's — " 

"Never  mind,  little  one,"  broke  in  Mr.  Trommel. 
"You  should  dig,  John,  between  those  lines.  Dig 
two  feet  deep,  and  throw 
up  the  earth  as  if  you 
make  a  trench.  We  shall 
then  throw  the  earth 
back  again  and  mix  in 
the  manure  well ;  we 
shall  then  have  the  good 
soil." 

"  Now  look,  little  one," 
said  Mr.  Trommel,  when 
a  trench  had  been  dug 
the  length  of  the  garden  ; 
"see,  now,  how  we  fill 
the  bed  for  the  plants. 
We  throw  in  some  of  the 
loose  soil,  then  spread  the  manure ;  then  throw  in 
more  of  the  soil,  and  again  a  little  manure." 


TORUS    HtTAD 


44  MAEY'S  GAEDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GEEW 

"Just  like  layer-cake,"  remarked  Mary. 

"Yes,"  assented  Mr.  Trommel  j  "like  the  layer- 
cake—only  different.  We  must  not  have  the  manure 
touch  the  roots  j  it  is  too  rich.  The  little  roots  must 
have  bread  with  their  jam— yes? 

"Now  smooth  it  over  with  the  rake,  and  to-morrow 
we  shall  plant." 


CHAPTER   VII 

PLANTING  SWEET  PEAS 
[April] 

IT  must  be  admitted  that  at  this  time  the  garden 
did  not  look  very  beautiful,  except  to  the  robins, 
who  thought  the  earth  had  been  freshly  turned  for 
their  especial  benefit.  It  was  only  an  oblong  inclo- 
sure,  two  sides  bounded  by  the  wire  netting  and  two 
by  the  board  fence.  A.  narrow  border-bed  two  feet 
wide  ran  around  the  inside  of  the  little  plot.  Mary, 
however,  surveyed  her  small  kingdom  with  the 
imaginative  pride  of  the  true  gardener. 

"Now  we  are  ready  to  plant,  Mr.  Trommel,"  she 
said,  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction;  "the  bed  is  all 
raked.  I  combed  it  and  combed  it,  and  the  tangles 
are  all  out." 

The  old  gardener  scrutinized  the  smooth  earth 
critically.  "There  are  little  brown  threads  of  roots 
45 


46  MARY'S  GAKDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GKEW 

—see,  there  and  there,"  he  said,  pointing  at  the 
offenders. 

"Do  those  little  things  make  any  difference!" 
questioned  Mary,  incredulously. 

"Those  little  brown  things  will  make  trouble  for 
the  sweet  peas  just  as  soon  as  they  can.  They  are 
roots  of  iniquity,  Liebchen;  we  must  not  have  them 
in  our  garden.  It  is  easier  to  eradicate  evil  when  it 
is  little  than  when  it  grows  big." 

"I  think  so,'.'  agreed  the  under-gardener,  dutifully, 
pulling  out  the  small  root-fibers. 

"Now  we  are  ready  ! "  she  said,  with  a  breath  of  re- 
lief. "And  we  put  them  in  deep.  Deep  as  my  finger?" 

"No,  no !  We  better  make  a  trench.  Can  you 
make  one  with  the  little  hoe  ?  " 

"I  can  make  a  beautiful  one.  Let  >s  have  it  here 
by  the  fence." 

"They  better  go  by  the  wire,  Liebchen.  They 
like  more  air  than  they  would  get  by  the  fence ; 
they  have  the  little  wings,  you  know.  Besides,  we 
did  not  make  the  ground  there  so  rich  as  here ;  that 
is  for  the  nasturtiums.  It  is  among  the  plants  as 
among  the  pretty  ladies :  you  can  judge  nothing  of 
the  appetite  by  the  looks.  Now,  you  would  think 
that  of  the  two  the  nasturtiums  would  like  the  most 


PLANTING  SWEET   PEAS  47 

to  eat,  they  run  so  fast  and  are  so  full  of  life  and  color. 
But  no  !  they  will  be  happy  on  poor  soil,  sandy  soil, 
with  almost  nothing  to  eat ;  they  do  not  mind  much 
going  thirsty.  But  the  sweet  peas,  so  dainty  and 
delicate,  they  will  yet  eat  all  the  food  you  can  give 
them,  and  they  drink,  drink— aber— nothing  but 
water,  although  they  like  the  liquid  manure." 

"They  've  lots  to  eat  here,"  said  Mary,  with  satis- 
faction. "Now  I  'm  going  to  dig  the  trench.  I 
think  I  '11  take  my  shovel,"  she  decided,  after  con- 
sidering her  implements  with  the  care  of  a  cautious 
golfer.  "Shovels  and  trenches  seem  to  go  together, 
Mr.  Trommel." 

"It  is  small,"  assented  the  old  man;  "it  will  not 
do  much  harm." 

"So  far  from  the  wire  ?  "  questioned  she,  putting  in 
the  shovel  about  three  inches  from  the  wire. 

Mr.  Trommel  nodded.  "Can  you  make  it 
straight?" 

"I  have  a  string,"  said  the  under-gardener, 
proudly,  putting  one  hand  in  her  apron  pocket ; 
"I  made  that  myself  out  of  two  clothes-pins,  and  it 
rolls  up  so.  See,"  she  said,  holding  up  a  clothes-pin 
and  string  arrangement.  "Clothes-pins  are  very 
useful,  Mr.  Trommel." 


48     MAEY'S  GAEDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GEEW 

"That  is  a  most  interesting  contrivance,"  said 
Herr  Trommel. 

"Now,  you  hold  this  clothes-pin  here,"  said  the 
under-gardener,  briskly,  "while  I  walk  toward  the 
fence  and  unroll  the  string,  just  as 
if  you  were  holding  a  kite  for  me 
to  fly.1  You  can't  stick  the  clothes- 
pin in  first  and  then  stretch  the 
string,  because  it  pulls  out,"  she 
explained. 

The  old  gardener  obediently  did 
as  he  was  bid— -stooped  down  and 
held  the  clothes-pin  until  the  string 
was  pulled  straight  and  the  pin 
at  the  other  end  driven  in  and 
stamped  upon. 

"I  think  he  would  go  in  easier  if  you  should  cut 
off  one  leg,"  suggested  Mr.  Trommel,  looking  reflec- 
tively at  the  clothes-pin  in  his  hand. 

"Perhaps  he  would,"  said  Mary,  brightening. 
"Will  you  cut  it  off  for  me?  I  have  only  scissors." 
"You  must  make  the  trench  deeper  than  that, 
little  one  j  we  must  have  it  six  inches.  The  seeds 
like  to  be  in  deep,  where  it  is  cool  and  moist.  You 
know,  we  put  the  manure  far  down  at  the  bottom 


PLANTING  SWEET   PEAS  49 

when  we  dug  the  bed,  so  the  roots  when  they  are 
hungry  will  go  down  even  farther  to  find  something 
good." 

"Is  that  far  enough  apart*" 

Mr.  Trommel  looked  down  into  the  trench 
through  his  spectacles.  "Two  inches,"  he  said; 
"that  will  do,  but  we  shall  have  to  thin  them  later. 
Thinning  always  seems  a  wicked  thing ;  it  is  like 
killing  some  of  the  children  because  there  is  not 
enough  to  eat  for  all,  as  the  bad  stepmother  does  in 
the  fairy  stories.  Wait,  wait ! "  he  exclaimed  sud- 
denly, "not  so  deep.  We  do  not  want  more  than 
two  inches  over  these  little  things." 

"I  thought  you  said  they  must  go -in  deep,"  said 
Mary. 

"Yes,  yes ;  but  the  seedlings  are  little  things  and 
do  not  like  to  push  their  way  up  through  quite 
such  a  heavy  blanket.  When  the  seedlings  are  up, 
then  we  push  the  soil  around  and  cover  them  up  to 
their  necks." 

"But  you  said,  when  we  were  potting  in  the  winter, 
that  we  must  n't  cover  the  little  plants  with  earth 
only  just  as  deep  as  they  were  before,  or  else  they 
could  n't  breathe,"  objected  his  listener. 

"Yes,  yes  ! "  said  Herr  Trommel,  impatiently.     "I 


'THE  OLD  GARDENER  OBEDIENTLY  DID  AS  HE  WAS  BID 


PLANTING   SWEET   PEAS  51 

I 

tell  you,  little  one,  plants  are  much  alike,  but  often 
they  are  different." 

The  under-gardener  looked  a  trifle  perplexed. 
"Gardening  takes  quite  a  little  experience,"  she 
sighed,  as  she  covered  the  seeds  carefully  and  left 
an  embankment  of  earth  beside  the  trench.  "Now 
we  water  them  just  like  we  do  the  other  things, 
don't  we?" 

"We  have  to  water  them  well ;  they  are  thirsty, 
these  little  fellows." 

"How  long  will  it  be  before  they  come  up?" 

"I  think  they  will  make  haste  for  us ;  they  are 
late  this  year,  you  know,  and  they  have  some  time  to 
make  up.  Sometimes  I  have  put  them  in  the  ground 
three  weeks  earlier,  but  this  year  the  old  Mother 
Earth  slept  late,  and  did  not  unlock  her  house  at  the 
right  time,  so  the  plants  could  not  come  out.  My 
dear  magnolia  blossoms  have  not  yet  dared  to  thrust 
their  noses  out  of  the  little  fur  hoods.  You  will  see 
soon  how  all  the  shrubs  must  hurry." 

"Is  n't  there  anything  else  we  can  plant?"  asked 
Mary,  raking  the  bed  by  the  fence. 

Herr  Trommel  meditated  a  moment.  "We  might 
put  in  the  poppies,"  he  said  doubtfully ;  "they  do 
not  mind  the  cold.  Have  you  the  seeds  here  ? " 


52  MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

But  the  under-gardener  was  already  running  to- 
ward the  house. 

Mr.  Trommel  was  still  looking  meditatively  at  the 
sweet-pea  trench  and  then  at  the  fence  when  Mary 
came  back,  packet  in  hand.  "Wait,  wait,"  he  said, 
as  she  began  to  tear  off  the  end  of  the  packet.  "Let 
us  first  see  where  we  shall  put  them.  We  shall  have 
nasturtiums  along  the  back  of  the  fence  j  yes,  and 
the  sweet  peas  we  have  along  the  wire ;  we  must 
put  something  in  between  to  keep  the  peace, 
Liebchen." 

"Why,  what  would  they  do  to  each  other?"  asked 
Mary,  fixing  a  pair  of  surprised  brown  eyes  on  the 
old  man's  face. 

"Well,"  replied  Herr  Trommel,  "it  is  not  that  the 
flowers  themselves  have  any  quarrel  with  each  other ; 
it  is  only  a  matter  of  clothes,  Liebchen,  but  sometimes 
that  is  serious.  These  sweet  peas  are  the  dainty  pink 
and  white  ;  they  do  not  like  to  be  so  near  the  bright 
scarlet  of  the  nasturtiums.  Perhaps  we  might  put 
some  of  these  morning-glories  in  between,  eh?  It  is 
yet  too  early  for  those,  but  the  border  is  narrow— you 
can  easily  reach  past.  We  might  plant  the  poppies  in 
front.  They  are  mixed,"  said  Herr  Trommel,  sadly  j 
"we  cannot  help  the  colors." 


PLANTING  SWEET   PEAS  53 

"Don't  you  like  seeds  mixed?"  asked  Mary,  anx- 
iously. "When  you  get  a  mixed  packet  you  get  so 
many  kinds  for  five  cents." 

The  old  man  shook  his  head.  "I  like  to  know 
what  I  am  planting.  If  I  ask  some  children  to  spend 
the  summer  with  me,  I  like  to  know  whom  I  have  ;  I 
do  not  want  them  'mixed,'  even  from  the  same 
family.  I  had  rather  have  mine  under-gardener,  for 
instance,  than  the  cousin  who  comes  sometimes  — 
what  is  his  name  ?  " 

"Kenneth?"  asked  Mary. 

Mr.  Trommel  nodded  vigorously. 

"Oh,  Kenneth  is  nice  !  He  knows  how  to  do  lots  of 
things.  He  made  a  spring-board  the  last  time  he  was 
here— just  dug  a  hole  and  put  one  end  of  the  board 
under  the  fence,  and  then  put  a  hassock  under  it  to 
make  the  spring,  and—" 

"Yes,  yes  ! "  broke  in  Mr.  Trommel ;  "he  used  my 
garden-sticks  for  fencing." 

"He  is  coming  to  my  house  as  soon  as  school  is 
over ;  he  is  making  a  garden,  too." 

"Yes  ? "  said  Herr  Trommel,  without  interest.  "He 
may  grow  to  be  a  fine  young  man,  but— I  would 
rather  not  have  him  in  my  garden.  Come,  let  us 
plant  the  poppies." 


51  MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

"Are  n't  they  little  ! "  said  Mary,  in  surprise. 

"Very  little  ;  we  have  to  mix  them  with  some  sand 
to  give  them  something  to  hold,  so  that  they  will  not 
blow  away." 

"  I  could  mix  them  in  a  candy-box,  could  n't  It" 

"That  will  be  large  enough  ;  we  put  twice  as  much 
sand  as  we  have  seeds." 

"The  poppies  would  be  lost  in  a  trench,  I  think," 
volunteered  Mary. 

"I  fear  if  we  put  them  in  a  trench  we  should 
never  see  the  pretty  poppies.  Just  sprinkle  them 
lightly  over  the  ground — so." 

"Don't  you  put  anything  over  them?  Just  pat 
them  down  t " 

"Just  pat  them  down  and  sprinkle  them  a  lit- 
tle, that  is  all.  These  poppies  are  like  Eskimo 
babies  :  they  do  not  mind  the  cold.  Ha  ! "  he  said, 
suddenly  straightening  himself,  "old  Peter  has  other 
things  to  do  !  I  set  out  some  roses  to-morrow,  little 
one,"  he  said,  as  he  turned  to  go  ;  "I  have  some  from 
across  the  sea,  from  France  ;  you  wish  to  see  how  we 
doit?" 

"Oh,  yes  !  "  she  said,  stopping  a  moment  from  pat- 
ting the  poppy  seeds. 

"I  shall  be  at  them  in  the  afternoon.     Be  sure 


PLANTING  SWEET   PEAS  55 

you  put  the  tools  away,  little  one ;  it  will  rain  to- 
night, I  think." 

"I  always  put  them  away,  Mr.  Trommel,"  said  the 
under-gardener,  with  dignity. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MAKING  A  ROSE  GARDEN 
[April] 

ELLO,  little  one!  Come  over  to  work  with 
old  Peter?" 

Mary  nodded  vigorously,  pulled  off  her  hat,  and 
then  pushed  off  the  rubbers  with  dexterous  toes.  "I 
was  almost  afraid  it  would  n't  be  possible.  Oh,  are 
those  the  roses  ? "  she  asked  in  a  disappointed  voice, 
catching  sight  of  the  unpromising-looking  heap,  and 
then  turning  to  look  at  a  brown  branch  with  roots 
a-dangle  which  Mr.  Trommel  held  in  his  hand. 
"I  've  seen  lots  prettier  ones  in  the  florists',  and 
they  were  all  in  bloom." 

The  old  gardener  looked  lovingly  down  at  the 
brown  branch.  "The  dear  lady ! "  he  said  caress- 
ingly, as  if  the  rose  had  been  insulted. 

He  looked  over  the  branch  for  a  few  moments  in 
56 


MAKING   A    KOSE   GARDEN 


57 


silence.     Then  he  spoke  :  "You  are  not  a  gardener 

yet,  Liebchen,  and  you  are  an  American.    People  who 

are  not  gardeners  and  are 

Americans  must  always  be 

buying  roses  when  they  are 

in  bloom,  and  shrubs  when 

they  are  in  leaf,  and  set  out 

trees   as   big   as   they  can. 

Everything  they  must  see, 

and  then  have  at  once. 

"This  rose  here  is  asleep 
yet.  She  is  Catherine  Mer- 
met,  an  old  kind,  but  lovely  ! 
She  was  dug  last  fall,  and  has 
been  lying  asleep  all  winter  ; 
in  June  she  will  be  ready  to 
flower." 

"Won't  you  hurt  her?" 
asked  Mary,  in  alarm ;  for 
Mr.  Trommel  was  cutting  the 
branches  and  leaving  but  one 
shoot,  and  that  he  cut  until  it  was  not  more  than  six 
inches  long. 

He  shook  his  head.    "No.    You  see,  I  cut  her  back 
—  so ;  she  can  then  be  quiet  and  have  little  to  do 


\ 


DORMANT  ROSE  BEFORE 
PRUNING 


58  MARY'S  GAKDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GKEW 

until  she  is  used  to  the  new  place.  I  cut  off  the  roots 
a  little  also.  Now,  when  the  sun  and  the  rain  waken 
her,  she  will  feel  like  a  new  plant  and  much  younger  ; 
she  will  send  down  the  new  little  roots,  and  on  top 
the  strong  new  shoots  will  come  up,  and  in  June  there 
will  be  roses  for  us  — 

"Better  than  if  it  were  blooming  now?"  questioned 
the  under-gardener. 

"Better  than  if  it  were  at  work  now,"  answered 
Herr  Trommel ;  "besides,  she  will  be  a  stronger  plant. 

"When  we  prune  roses  we  cut  out  all  the  wood 
that  looks  a  bit  weak  —see?"  he  said,  taking  up  an- 
other rose  root.  "That  little  branch  comes  off;  it  is 
too  weak.  I  leave  but  these  two;  they  are  fine, 
strong  shoots  ;  but  I  cut  them  back — so." 

"Let  me  do  one,"  begged  Mary. 

Herr  Trommel  demurred.  "If  it  were  anything 
but  a  rose,"  he  said.  "Wait  until  you  are  bigger, 
Liebchen.  Did  you  see  the  fine  bed  I  have  made  for 
them?"  he  added,  changing  the  subject  hastily. 

"The  square  place  on  the  other  side  of  the  path?" 

"Yes,  yes,  that  is  it.  I  have  there  three  feet  of 
good  soil,  with  a  layer  of  broken  stone  underneath 
for  drainage,— they  do  not  like  wet  feet,— and  the 
most  beautiful  manure  for  them !  I  often  think 


MAKING  A   EOSE   GARDEN  59 

when  I  make  up  the  beds  for  my  roses  that  Job  made 
a  great  mistake.  Yes.  When  he  found  it  necessary 
to  sit  on  the  dung-heap,  he  should  first  have  put  some 
earth  over  it  and  then  planted  roses  on  top.  It 
would  have  been  good  for  the  roses ;  it  would  also 
have  made  it  much  pleasanter  for  Job.  Yes. 

"The  roses,  little  one,  are  very  dainty  and  delicate- 
looking,  but,  like  the'  sweet  peas,  you  can  hardly  give 
them  too  much  to  eat.  They  like  good  food,  and 
^plenty  of  it.  It  is  only  in  the  stories  that  the  lady 
looks  very  lovely  and  eats  nothing ;  we  gardeners 
know  better,  and  I*think  she  in  the  story  went 
down  the  back  stairs  and  found  something  to  eat — 
some  wurst  or  frankfurters  —  when  the  man  who  told 
the  story  knew  nothing  about  it. 

"  You  see,  Liebchen,  the  rose  has  been  for  years  the 
fine  lady  of  the  garden  j  the  —  what  do  you  say  ?  —the 
society  lady — yes  !  She  is  also  what  they  call  exclu- 
sive :  she  likes  but  to  live  with  herself  and  other  roses. 
Then,  she  must  have  very  rich  food  —yes,  and  a  great 
many  baths  ;  and  she  must  have  her  beauty-sleep— so 
we  cut  back  the  branches,  as  you  see  ;  and  she  does  not 
wish  too  many  children  to  take  care  of,  so  we  take  off 
many  of  the  buds.  She  does  not  use  the — the  cos- 
metics, but  she  has  her  little  toilet  preparations." 


60  MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

"What !  "  exclaimed  Mary,  incredulously.  "Do 
roses  have  tooth-powder  and  cologne  and— and  curl- 
ing-tongs, and  those  things  ? " 

"Not  exactly,"  admitted  Mr.  Trommel.  "They 
have  kerosene  spray,  and  whale-oil  emulsion,  and 
Bordeaux  mixture,  instead  of  cologne;  powder 
they  use,  too— sometimes  powdered  sulphur  put  on 
the  under  side  of  the  leaves  where  it  will  not  show  j 
and  when  they  begin  to  bloom  they  also  like  some 
liquid  manure  as  a  tonic. 

"lAebchen,  plants  are  like  people :  when  they  be- 
come very  highly  cultivated  the  liebe  Gott  does 
much,  but  the  gardener  he  also  does  somewhat. 
There  ! "  he  said,  ending  his  lecture  suddenly,  "the 
roses  are  now  ready." 

"I  'm  going  to  plant  some  of  them  for  you,"  said 
the  under-gardener  coaxingly,  as  she  followed  him 
along  the  little  path  to  the  rose -bed. 

"Well,"  said  Herr  Trommel,  hesitating,  "you  will 
be  very  careful  ?  " 

"Oh,  very  careful,"  repeated  Mary,  with  assuring 
emphasis. 

"Well,  then,  we  put  the  first  one  in  here  j  this  is 
Prince  Camille  de  Rohan,"  he  said,  handing  one  of 
the  plants  to  his  assistant.  "He  has  pretty  flowers, 


MAKING  A  KOSE   GAKDEN  61 

but  his  habits  are  not  very  good.  It  is  not  often  he 
grows  to  be  a  fine  plant." 

The  under-gardener  was  already  down  on  her 
knees  at  the  edge  of  the  bed.  "Make  the  hole 
here  ?"  she  inquired,  thrusting  in  the  trowel,  and  then 
shaking  back  her  curls  to  look  at  the  old  man. 

He  nodded  approvingly. 

"Very  deep,  so  the  roots  will  have  plenty  of 
room,"  explained  Mary,  as  if  she  were  conducting  a 
field  class,  while  working  industriously  with  the 
trowel,  "and  spread  the  roots  out  just  the  way  they 
were  before,  very  carefully,  because  he  is  asleep ; 
and  you  hold  him  with  your  left  hand,  so,  and  push 
the  dirt  in  with  the  other,  just  as  if  you  were  potting 
a  little  bit  of  a  plant  — " 

"Wait,  wait,  let  us  see,"  said  Herr  Trommel,  sud- 
denly interrupting  the  discourse.  "Have  you  him 
deep  enough  so  that  the  earth  will  come  over  the 
graft?  Yes?  That  is  right,"  he  said,  peering  into 
the  hole.  "If  we  have  not  that  little  knob  covered 
up  he  will  'sucker,'  and  that  is  a  bad  thing  for  the 
graft  to  do." 

"What  is  'sucker'?"  asked  the  assistant. 

"You  remember  what  I  told  you  when  we  were 
grafting?  " 


62  MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 


"About  the  papa  and  the  baby  he  had  to  take  care 
of  »     Oh,  yes,  I  remember." 

"Well,  look  now,  here,  above  the  little  knob.  That 
is  the  graft,  the  Prince  Camille.  Below  the  knob,  the 
roots  and  this  bit  of 
stem  — see  f  This  is  the 
stock,  the  papa ;  he  is 
Manetti.  But  some- 
-  times  he  forgets  he  has 
the  child  to  care  for  :  he 
thinks  he  would  like  to 
be  pretty  himself,  so  he 
uses  up  some  of  the 
baby's  food  and  he 
sends  up  a  shoot  from 
here,  see,  below  the 
graft.  Then  we  call  it 
a  bad  name  and  say  it 
is  a  sucker,  and  cut  it 
off  5  if  we  did  not,  the 
graft,  the  baby,  would 
have  but  little  to  eat,  for  the  stock  is  stronger. 
That  is  why  we  put  the  graft  down  in  the  ground 
two  or  three  inches  below  the  surface ;  the  papa 
cannot  then  breathe,  so  he  cannot  well  send  up 


ROSE  AFTER  PRUNING,  SET  IN  THE 

GROUND  THREE  INCHES  BELOW 

THE  GRAFT 


MAKING  A   ROSE   GARDEN  63 

shoots.  He  does  not  need  to  breathe ;  he  must 
just  work  and  find  food  for  the  baby ;  he  is  a  common 
fellow,  and  it  is  all  he  is  good  for  ! " 

"I  understand.  Now  we  put  water  in  the  hole," 
announced  Mary,  resuming  her  field  lecture,  "and 
that  settles  and  washes  the  soil  down  about  the 
roots  without  bothering  them ;  and  now  we  fill  up 
with  dirt  and  push  it  down,  just  as  if  we  were  pot- 
ting a  little  plant— and  now  it's  all  done  !  I  'm  sure 
the  prince  did  n't  wake  up,  Mr.  Trommel,"  she  said 
earnestly. 

"I  am  sure  he  did  not,  Liebchen;  I  did  not  hear 
him  make  a  sound.  Now  I  put  the  next  one  in — see, 
I  put  him  about  three  feet  away.  They  do  not  like 
to  be  too  close,  these  aristocrats ;  they  do  not  like 
crowding.  No." 

"Why  could  n't  we  plant  the  little  seedlings  from 
the  boxes  in  my  garden?  They  wouldn't  mind  the 
cold  any  more  than  the  roses,  would  they  ? " 

"Ah,  but  you  see  they  are  very  little,  very  tender, 
the  seedling  plants.  They  are  but  babies  ;  you  must 
treat  babies  differently  from  big  people  :  they  must 
be  kept  warmer.  Prince  Camille,  here,  is  two  years 
old ;  he  is  a  young  fellow  able  to  go  by  himself. 
He  is  asleep  now,  too;  he  will  not  mind  trans- 


64  MAEY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

• 

planting.  But  I  could  not  now  set  out  a  rose  cutting, 
a  baby  from  the  greenhouse— it  would  die.  I  must 
wait  until  the  fine  weather,  when  all  the  babies  can 
be  out. 

"First  we  plant  the  shrubs  and  trees— they  are  yet 
asleep ;  we  must  plant  them  soon,  because  they  are 
soon  awake— then  they  do  not  like  it.  Then,  also, 
if  we  must,  we  plant  the  perennials,— phloxes  and 
hollyhocks  and  such  things, — though  it  is  better  to 
plant  them  in  the  fall.  Next  we  plant  the  seeds  in 
the  ground  out  of  doors ;  they  are  asleep,  too,  and 
will  not  wake  for  a  little  while.  Then,  too,  we  plant 
the  evergreens,  for  they  do  not  wake  so  early ;  they 
do  not  make  the  changes  in  their  dress  in  the  spring, 
and  so  the  Mother  Earth  lets  them  sleep  later.  And 
last  we  set  out  the  seedlings  from  the  boxes,  the  little 
babies  that  are  already  awake  and  growing.  They 
are  spoilt  children :  they  have  been  brought  up  in 
the  greenhouse  with  everything  just  as  they  like  it, 
so  if  we  put  them  out  too  early  they  find  the  out-of- 
doors  cold  and  hard ;  they  shiver  and  wish  they  were 
back  in  the  house.  When  we  grow  the  seedlings  in  a 
cold  frame,  out  of  doors,  or  where  there  is  not  the  extra 
heat,  then  we  can  put  them  out  earlier ;  they  are  not 
such  sensitive  little  things." 


MAKING  A   KOSE   GARDEN  65 

"I  understand/'  said  the  under-gardener. 

"Do  you?"  demanded  Mr.  Trommel,  fixing  his 
spectacles  on  the  assistant's  face.  "Then  what  did  I 
say  ? " 

"You  said  we  move  the  shrubs  first,  because  they 
live  outdoors  all  winter  and  don't  mind  the  cold,  but 
we  have  to  hurry  and  move  them  while  they  are 
asleep ;  and  we  move  the  pre-ennials,  for  they  are 
asleep  too,  but  we  ought  n't  to  move  them  until  fall ; 
and  next  come  the  seeds,  and  then  last  the  babies 
from  the  greenhouse,  and  we  have  to  wait  until  it  is 
very  comfortable  for  them,  and  if  things  wake  up 
very  early  we  have  to  plant  them  the  night  before— 
that  is,  in  the  fall." 

"That  is  not  at  all  bad,"  said  Mr.  Trommel,  beam- 
ing approvingly  on  his  assistant ;  "you  will  make  a 
fine  gardener  some  day." 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Mary,  earnestly. 


CHAPTER   IX 

WAITING   FOR   THE   SWEET   PEAS 
[April] 

HEN  Mary  pushed  open  the  gate,  Herr  Peter 
Trommel  was  sitting  on  the  step  of  his  green- 
house, smoking  his  pipe  as  peacefully  as  if  it  were  not 
Saturday  morning,  the  busiest  of  the  week.  "Ah,  a 
fine  day,  little  one,"  said  he,  lifting  the  pipe  from  his 
mouth  and  puffing  out  a  cloud  of  smoke,  "and  how 
does  the  planting?" 

The  small  gardener's  sleeves  were  rolled  up ;  she 
had  evidently  been  already  at  work.  "I  came  over 
for  some  advice,  Mr.  Trommel.  The  sweet  peas  are  n't 
up  yet.  Do  you  think  they  are  all  right  ?  Ought  n't 
we  to  look  at  them  ?  "  she  added  anxiously. 

The  old  gardener  laughed.  "When  did  we  plant 
them?" 

"Almost  a  week  ago,"  said  Mary,  reproachfully. 
66 


WAITING   FOR   THE   SWEET   PEAS      67 

"Oh,  the  little  ladies  are  but  scarcely  awake  yet ; 
they  are  just  thinking  about  stretching  their  feet 
down  and  stretching  their  arms  up  toward  the  light ; 
wait  a  bit  and  you  shall  see  the  pretty  green  leaves." 

"Are  n't  you  planting  anything  to-day?"  she 
asked. 

"Well,"  said  Herr  Trommel,  reflectively,  "my 
roses— they  have  a  smoke  this  morning,  so  I  thought 
old  Peter  better  have  one  also." 

"Your  roses  ! "  echoed  she.  "Do  they  have  tobacco 
too?" 

"They  like  it  sometimes.  Look  and  see,"  he  an- 
swered, with  a  wave  of  his  pipe  toward  the  green- 
house. 

The  under-gardener  stepped  past  him  and  opened 
the  door,  but  in  a  moment  came  back,  coughing  and 
sputtering  :  "Oh,  Mr.  Trommel,  it's  awful !  Do  the 
roses  like  that  stuff?  " 

"It  is  not  very  good  tobacco,"  he  admitted,  "but 
the  roses  do  not  mind.  They  use  it  only  as  a— a 
cosmetic ;  it  kills  the  green  fly  that  troubles  them. 
I  have  but  half  a  pound  in  a  little  pile  burning  on 
the  floor." 

"Flowers  have  queer  medicines,  haven't  they?" 
said  Mary,  reflectively. 


68  MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

Herr  Trommel  nodded  and  puffed  out  a  cloud  of 
smoke. 

"And  you  are  sure  the  sweet  peas  are  all  right!" 
she  began  again,  reverting  to  the  object  of  her  visit. 
"Don't  they  ever  make  a  mistake?  How  do  the 
roots  know  to  go  down  to  find  something  to  eat 
when  the  leaves  go  up? " 

"You  must  ask  lieber  Gott  that  question,  little  one. 
The  roots  are  wonderful  things :  they  are  like  little 
mouths,  like  fine  little  sponges,  and  yet  they  know 
how  to  take  just  what  they  need  from  the  soil.  How 
does  the  poppy,  just  by  eating  the  brown  earth  and 
drinking  and  breathing,  change  from  the  tiny  seed 
into  the  flower  with  the  wonderful  color?  Those  are 
things  we  must  ask  lieber  Gott.  If  we  put  the  seed  in 
upside  down,  so  that  the  roots  come  out  of  the  little 
case  on  top,  so  soon  as  they  are  out  of  the  shell,  they 
know  to  turn  and  go  down ;  and  the  leaves,  if  they 
came  out  below,  they  would  know  to  turn  and  go -up 
to  find  the  light.  When  the  Hebe  Gott  shuts  up  all  the 
flower  in  the  tiny  seed,  he  shuts  up  with  it  also  a  great 
deal  of  wisdom." 

The  under-gardener  was  listening  intently.  "Can 
plants  think,  like  you  and  me?"  she  asked,  with 
wide-open,  astonished  eyes. 


WAITING  FOR    THE   SWEET   PEAS      69 

"Sometimes,  it  seems,  they  think  better,"  said  he. 
"If  you  were  all  alone  and  very  hungry,  would  you 
know  that  some  one  had  left  a  basket  with  lunch 
away  off  at  the  corner  of  the  street,  behind  the  fence, 
where  you  could  not  see  it  ?  Would  you  know  to  go 
straight  to  it  with  your  eyes  shut  ?  If  you  were  very 
thirsty,  would  you  know  that  the  brook  at  the  foot 
of  the  hill  was  dry,  but  that  there  was  water  in  the 
well  yonder?  No  ;  you  would  have  to  go  look.  But 
a  tree  would  know ;  a  bee  would  know  also.  That  is 
what  we  call  instinct.  When  these  trees  or  flowers 
or  insects  do  something  we  cannot  do  and  cannot 
understand,  we  call  it  instinct. 

"I/iebchen,  the  more  you  live  with  plants,  the  more 
you  have  not  only  the  love  for  the  dear  people  but 
the  great  respect  for  their  understanding." 

"Then  I  won't  look  for  the  sweet  peas  till  the 
leaves  peek  out,"  said  the  under-gardener,  in  an  awed 
tone. 

"I  think  the  little  ladies  like  it  better  if  we  do  not 
disturb  them  until  they  are  dressed  and  ready  to 
come  out." 

He  rose  from  his  seat  and  went  into  the  greenhouse. 
"I  give  my  roses  a  little  air,"  he  said ;  "they  have 
now  enough  tobacco. 


70  MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

"Come  and  see  what  I  have  for  you  in  my  border  "  ; 
and  he  resumed  his  pipe  as  they  walked  along  the 
narrow  grass  path.  He  stopped  at  a  clump  that  looked 
to  Mary  very  much  like  dead  grass.  "You  must  have 
some  of  this,"  he  said.  "Eh?  You  do  not  think  it 
looks  very  pretty?"  he  asked,  smiling  at  the  little 
girl's  disappointed  face.  "These  are  the  old  grass- 
pinks,  little  one." 

f<Oh,  I  know  them,"  said  Mary,  brightening.  "They 
are  small,  not  like  the  big  carnations." 

"No,  no.  I  think  the  big  carnations  would  have 
nothing  to  do  with  these." 

"Won't  you  hurt  them,  Mr.  Trommel?"  asked 
Mary,  in  alarm,  for  the  old  gardener  had  dug  up  the 
whole  clump  and  began  to  divide  it  with  his  spade. 

"No,  no,?'  he  said  unconcernedly ;  "it  is  better  to 
move  them  in  the  fall,  these  perennials— they  wake 
up  very  early  j  but  these  are  yet  asleep.  The  clump 
here,  Liebchen,  is  a  large  family.  The  children  are 
grown  up,  but  they  still  live  at  home ;  they  are  big 
enough  to  be  out  in  the  world,  yes  ;  so  we  send  some 
to  grow  in  your  garden.  It  is  time  these  children 
should  go  to  work  for  themselves." 

"I  think  they  will  like  it  over  in  my  garden,"  said 
Mary. 


WAITING   FOR   THE  SWEET   PEAS      71 

"I  think  they  should,"  assented  Mr.  Trommel. 
"Let  us  see,"— he  straightened  himself  and  looked 
reflectively  over  the  little  border;  "you  shall  have 
some  phlox,  yes,  asd_»idbeckia  ;  and  by  and  by  some 
of  my  hollyhocks.  All  these  things  we  should  set  out 
in  the.  fall,  but  if  we  try  them  now,  perhaps  they  will 
be  particularly  polite  to  you." 

"What  is  the  phlox  like  when  it  blossoms'?"  asked 
Mary. 

"It  is  better  that  you  put  the  label  beside  it  and 
then  watch  for  what  it  is  like.  Besides,  I  have  for- 
gotten which  one  this  fellow  is.  I  tell  you,  little  one, 
a  garden  in  June  is  like  one  of  those  very  exciting 
stories :  there  is  always  something  happening,  and 
you  do  not  quite  know  what  shall  happen  next. 

"See,  I  set  these  pinks  in  one  of  our  flats,  and  I 
put  a  little  earth— that  is,  the  covers— around  the 
roots,  so,  and  they  will  not  know  that  we  took  them 
out  of  their  own  bed.  You  can  bring  over  the  lit- 
tle wheelbarrow  and  take  them  to  their  new  home." 

"I  think  I  '11  get  it  now,"  said  the  assistant. 

"Come  first  in  the  greenhouse  a  minute  and  see  the 
fine  hedge  we  shall  have." 

Mary  ran  ahead  into  the  greenhouse,  and  hurried 
along  the  path  to  the  bench  where  her  domain  was 


72  MAEY'S  GAEDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GEEW 

marked  off.  There  were  the  cuttings— a  two -yard 
stretch  of  the  greenhouse  bench  was  filled  with  them. 
Two  weeks  ago  the  little  brown  sticks  were  like  so 
many  lead-pencils  thrust  in  the  sand,  as  evenly  set 
as  if  they  were  tiny  soldiers  ;  now  they  were  gay  with 
tiny  sprouting  bright  green  leaves  which  each  little 
cutting  was  thrusting  out  eagerly. 

"Are  n't  they  cunning  ! "  said  the  under-gardener, 
ecstatically ;  "  and  they  're  going  to  make  a  border 
all  along  my  path,  are  n't  they?  " 

Mr.  Trommel  nodded.  "Next  year,  when  you  have 
grown  a  little  more  patience,  Liebchen,  we  will  have 
the  box,  but  these  little  fellows  will  do  well  enough 
now." 

"I  think  they  're  lovely  !  "  she  declared.  "Can't 
we  plant  them  now  ?  " 

"Not  yet,  not  yet !  "  said  the  old  man,  impatiently, 
"You  are  an  American,  my  child,  and  it  is  not  often 
that  Americans  are  good  gardeners ;  they  will  do 
everything  at  once.  Yet  I  think  you  will  make  a 
good  gardener ;  but  listen  !  "  and  he  held  up  an  ad- 
monishing finger.  "  The  good  gardener  waits,  but 
also  he  is  beforehand ;  he  rushes,  but  also  he  goes 
slow.  If  you  will  make  a  garden  because  you  like 
pretty  colors  and  pretty  things,  or  because  the  yard 


WAITING   FOE   THE   SWEET   PEAS      73 


looks  bare,  that  is  one  reason.  But  if  you  make  a 
garden  because  you  love  the  plants  and  wish  them  to 
come  and  stay  with  you— that  is  a  better  reason. 
My  child  ! "  he  exclaimed,  with  grow- 
ing indignation,  "there  are  people  who 
think  of  plants  as  if  they  were  but  a 
sort  of —of  lawn  furnishings  !  '  Yes, 
yes,'  they  say  to  the  gardener,  '  set  out 
something.'  Bah  !  he  should 
give  them  things  made  of 
wire  and  colored  paper  — 
they  will  but  look  at  them 
from  the  piazza.  They 
should  not  have  the  dear 
flowers  that  are  alive  from 
the  fine,  wise  little  roots  to 
the  tips  of  the  leaves  and  the  edges  of  the  pretty 
petals.  It  is  as  sad  for  flowers  as  it  is  for  children  to 
live  with  people  that  do  not  love  them.  Yes.  And 
when  the  tulips  have  lost  their  pretty  dresses,  the 
gardener  must  rush  and  dig  up  the  bulbs  and  put  in 
geraniums  —  pansies  —  anything,  but  they  must  have 
a  show.  It  is  to  make  a  summer  hotel  of  the  garden  ; 
the  flowers  know  very  well  it  is  not  their  home. 
Liebchen,  if  I  thought  you  would  not  care  what  became 


74    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

of  those  grass-pinks,  there,  after  they  have  finished 
blooming,  I  could  not  let  them  go  away  from 
home." 

The  brown  eyes  Itfoked  up  earnestly  at  the  gold- 
rimmed  spectacles.  *I  willbe  very  good  to  them, 
Mr.  Trommel,"  she  said. 

"I  know  it,  Liebchen,"  smiled  the  old  man ;  "now 
run  and  get  the  little  wheelbarrow." 


CHAPTER  X 

PLANTING 

[May] 

T^HEKE  is  no  time  to  be  lost  on  a  warm  May 
morning.  So  Mary  thought,  and  she  was  busily 
at  work  in  the  little  garden.  A  fat  robin  seemed  of 
much  the  same  opinion  5  he  also  was  examining  the 
ground  attentively,  but  with  an  eye  to  breakfast. 

"I  suppose  he  'd  like  to  taste  my  sweet  peas,  even 
if  they  are  n't  cooked,"  thought  Mary,  as  she  poked 
drills  into  the  ground  with  a  chubby  forefinger,  care- 
fully measuring  the  distances  with  the  beloved 
clothes-pin. 

It  was  no  light  matter  to  plant  seeds  without  Mr. 
Trommel  to  say,  "Yes,  yes,  that  is  right,"  and  the 
white  sunbonnet  bent  assiduously  over  the  flower-bed, 
for  the  under-gardener  must  reach  over  the  poppies 
in  front  to  make  the  drills  at  the  back  of  the  bed  by 
75 


76  MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

the  fence.  "Three  inches  deep,"  she  said  to  herself 
and  the  robin,  who  did  not  seem  much  interested, 
"and  three  inches  apart,  and  afterward  I  shall  have 
to  thin  them,"  she  added  judicially. 

"Hello,  little  girl ! "  called  a  voice.  Mary  looked 
up  so  suddenly  that  the  sunbounet  fell  back  from  her 
head  and  hung  at  the  back  of  her  neck.  A  flaxen  head 
had  appeared  over  the  top  of  the  fence,  and  a  pair  of 
round,  interested  eyes  were  staring  straight  at  her. 

"Is  it  all  buried?  Was  it  a  bird,  and  did  the  cat 
get  it?  or  was  it  kittens,  and  did  the  grown-ups  get 
them? "  inquired  the  interested  stranger. 

"There  is  n't  anything  dead,"  said  Mary,  with  dig- 
nity. "I  am  planting  nasturtiums  in  my  garden." 

"Oh,"  said  the  stranger,  respectfully,  and  relapsed 
into  silence,  though  he  did  not  descend  from  the 
fence. 

The  sunbonnet  bent  again  over  the  brown  earth, 
and  seed  after  seed  dropped  silently  into  the  drills. 
At  last  the  under-gardener  looked  up.  "Are  you  the 
new  family  in  Marion  Burroughs's  house  ?  "  she  asked. 

The  boy  nodded.  "We  've  only  just  come,"  he 
said.  "We  used  to  live  in  New  York.  My  name  's 
Randolph  Findlayson  Hadley.  Pm  Donald  Patter- 
son's cousin." 


PLANTING 


77 


«  Oh," — Mary  looked  at  him  with  interest, — "  I  know 
Donald ;  he  's  in  my  class.  And  what  do  they  call 
you?" 

The  new  neighbor  hesitated  a  moment.  "The 
fellows  call  me  l  Finnan  Haddie,' "  he  said  ruefully. 

Mary  gave  him 
a  glance  of  sym- 
pathy and  then 
went  on  with  her 
planting.  Al- 
ready the  row  of 
freshly  planted 
seeds  reached  half 
the  length  of  the 
border. 

"Just  look  at  the  way  that  robin  runs  and  then 
cocks  his  head  and  listens,"  observed  the  new  neigh- 
bor, changing  the  subject.  "I  wonder  what  he  's  lis- 
tening for?" 

"He 's  listening  for  his  breakfast,"  explained  Mary. 
"He  can  hear  the  earthworms  eating  the  ground  'way 
down  inside.  Don't  you  wish  you  had  ears  like  that ! 
Mr.  Trommel  says  it 's  only  the  worms  who  stay  up 
too  late  that  get  caught,  for  all  the  good  earthworms 
are  in  their  houses  at  daylight." 


"  MARY 


WENT  ON  WITH   HER  PLANTING 


78  MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

"Who  's  Mr.  Trommel  ?  "  asked  the  new  neighbor. 

"He  lives  over  there,"  answered  Mary,  pointing 
to  the  long,  low  greenhouse,  "and  he  knows  every- 
thing about  flowers  and  gardens  and  trees  and  in- 
sects. He  is  my  most  intimate  friend,"  she  finished 
proudly. 

The  new  boy  was  all  respectful  attention. 

"Mr.  Trommel  helps  me  about  my  garden,"  she 
went  on,  dropping  another  seed  into  its  long,  narrow 
pocket.  Then  she  looked  up  with  sudden  friend- 
liness. "If  you  climb  over,  I  '11  show  you  the  tool- 
house  he  made  for  me.  Can  you  jump  and  not  muss 
my  border?" 

"Huh  ! "  said  the  new  boy,  scornfully.  "I  can  jump 
three  of  those  little  flower-beds.  Just  watch  me." 

But  the  under-gardener  watched  the  feat  with  dig- 
nified unconcern. 

"Don't  step  off  the  path,"  she  cautioned.  "I  have 
sweet  alyssum  planted  here  at  the  edge.  Here  's  the 
tool-house,  in  the  corner.  It  ought  to  be  near  the 
garden,  Mr.  Trommel  says — that  is,  adjacent." 

"'Adjacent'  is  n't  a  tool-house,"  said  the  visitor, 
with  superior  wisdom.  "It 's  a  kind  of  general.  I  've 
read  about  that  in  history.  They  have  adjacent-gen- 
erals." 


PLANTING 


79 


"H'm  ! "  said  the  under-gardener,  somewhat  dis- 
tantly. "  '  Adjacent '.  means  near  ;  if  they  have  '  ad- 
jacent' generals,  that 
means  they  are  nearly 
generals,  but  not 
quite." 

"Perhaps  that 'sit," 
admitted  the  boy,  re- 
luctantly. "Say,  it's 
a  cute  little  place,  is 
n't  it?" 

"Mr. Trommel  made 
it.  We  took  a  big  box 
with  a  hinge  to  it,  and 
then  sawed  the  part 
that  opened,  so  it 
would  n't  open  'way 
to  the  top,  and  would 
be  more  like  a  door, 
instead  of  having  the 
whole  side  of  the  house  open  ;  then  we  stood  it  on  end, 
and  rested  the  lowest  end  on  the  beam  of  the  fence, 
and  then  nailed  it  through  the  bottom  to  the  fence. 
And  afterward  Mr.  Trommel  painted  it  green,  and 
made  the  little  steps,  so  it  would  n't  look  just  pasted 


80  MAKY'S  GAKDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GKEW 

to  the  fence.  He  put  the  little  hood  over  the  door, 
too.  Is  n't  it  cunning? " 

She  turned  the  wooden  button  and  opened  the 
door.  "See  the  hooks  inside?  That 's  where  I  hang 
my  apron  and  my  watering-pot.  The  shovel  and 
other  things  I  just  stand  up." 

"Pretty  nice,"  conceded  the  visitor ;  "I  'm  going 
to  make  one  like  that  for  my  garden,  only  mine  's 
going  to  be  bigger." 

"I  like  it  littler ;  it  's— it  's  more  suitable,"  said 
the  under-gardener,  with  dignity,  closing  the  door  of 
the  small  tool-house. 

"Those  are  my  sweet  peas,"  she  explained,  "the 
ones  coming  up  by  the  wire  fence ;  and  in  front  of 
them  are  ragged-sailors ;  over  there  are  the  poppies  ; 
and  I  have  marigolds  and  sunflowers  by  the  gate,  and 
lots  of  things." 

"What 's  in  the  middle?"  asked  the  visitor. 

"A  surprise,"  answered  Mary.  "Mr.  Trommel  is 
making  the  surprise  now ;  it 's  going  to  be  made  of 
wire  netting." 

"I  know  what  it  is,  then,"  said  the  boy,  trium- 
phantly ;  "it  's  a  bed  of  tulips,  with  a  little  fence  of 
wire  around  it.  I  've  seen  those  lots  of  times." 

But  Mary  only  smiled  mysteriously.     "Just  you 


PLANTING  81 

wait,"  she  said.  "But  it  is  n't  tulips ;  you  have  to 
plant  tulips  in  the  fall.  The  things  that  wake  up 
very  early,"  instructed  she,  "we  have  to  plant  in  the 
fall,  because  they  don't  like  to  be  .disturbed  just 
before— before  their  performance :  that  's  what  Mr. 
Trommel  says." 

"I  'm  going  to  make  a  garden,  too,"  declared  the 
visitor,  "but  mine  's  going  to  be  all  vegetables.  I 
s'pose  I  '11  have  to  dig  up  the  yard  a  little  before  I 
can  plant  the  seeds." 

"Dig  it !"  exclaimed  Mary.  "I  should  think  you 
would !  You  ought  to  dig  the  beds  two  feet  deep, 
and  put  in  manure,  so  the  roots  will  have  something 
to  eat  when  they  go  down.  '  Top-spit '  is  nice,  too," 
she  added  judicially,  dropping  another  nasturtium 
seed  into  its  hole. 

"  What  is  'top-spit'  1 "  inquired  Kandolph  Findlay- 
son,  deferentially. 

"Top-spit,"  said  Mary,  rising  to  explain,  "is  like 
this.  When  you  dig  up  sod  or  things  like  that  to 
make  the  bed,  you  knock  off  with  your  shovel  the 
dirt  that  hangs  about  the  roots,  and  you  scrape  off 
the  bits  of  roots  on  the  under  side.  Well,  the  dirt 
and  the  bits  of  dead  roots  that  come  off,  that 's  top- 
spit,  and  it 's  extra  nice." 


82  MAKY'S  GAKDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GKEW 

"Top-spit  and  manure,  and  dig  it  two  feet  deep," 
repeated  Finnan  Haddie,  dutifully.  "How  deep  are 
you  putting  in  those  seeds  ?  "  asked  he,  for  the  sun- 
bonnet  bent  again  to  the  work. 

"Three  inches,"  she  said ;  "but  you  must  n't  put 
everything  in  so  deep.  It  is  about  three  times  the 
size  of  the  seed,  Mr.  Trommel  says,  and  most  seeds 
are  littler.  But  the  sweet  peas  go  in  deep ;  that  is 
because  they  are  peculiar.  What  are  you  going  to 
have  in  your  garden  ?  " 

"Oh,  radishes  and  lettuce  and  corn — and  pump- 
kins, too,  for  Jack-o'-lanterns." 

"That  '11  be  fine  ! "  said  the  under-gardener,  admir- 
ingly. "My  garden  's  just  flowers ;  but  I  'm  to  plant 
all  the  things  in  father's  garden  for  him,  and  he  's 
going  to  give  me  fifty  cents  for  doing  it,  and  then  I  'm 
going  to  buy  some  pansy  plants.  Father  asked  Mr. 
Trommel  to  get  somebody  to  plant  for  him,  and 
Mr.  Trommel  recommended  me,"  explained  Mary, 
with  evident  pride. 

"Oh,  my  ! "  said  Kandolph  Findlayson,  much  im- 
pressed. 

The  sunbonnet  bent  modestly  over  the  flower-bed. 
"I  don't  know  celery  and  'sparagus  and  strawberries 
and  those  things  yet,  but  father  said  just  'plain  Amer- 


PLANTING  83 

lean  back-yard  vegetables '  would  do,  and  I  could  get 
what  I  liked  ;  so  I  'm  going  to  have  watermelons  and 
radishes  and  lettuce  and  peas  and  beets,  and  I  'm  go- 
ing to  plant  them  this  afternoon  all  myself." 

"Can  I  come  over? "  asked  the  boy. 

"Yes,  you  come  over,"  said  Mary,  hospitably,  "and 
then  you  can  help  me  fix  the  string.  It 's  rather  hard 
to  get  it  straight  all  by  yourself.  Mr.  Trommel  lays 
down  a  boar(J  ;  but  a  board  is  very  heavy,  so  I  take  a 
string.  You  know,  you  must  have  the  rows  straight ; 
it  's  dreadful  not  to.  There,"  she  said,  drawing  a  long 
breath,  "my  nasturtiums  are  all  planted — two  whole 
rows  of  them.  Now  I  'm  going  in.  You  'd  better 
come  out  this  way,  Randolph  Finnan  Haddie  ;  you  '11 
mass  my  flower-bed  if  you  try  to  climb  the  fence  on 
this  side.  See  my  gate  ? "  she  said,  as  she  unfastened 
it.  "Mr.  Trommel  made  it.  By  and  by  the  sun- 
flowers will  be  'way  up,  bigger  than  I  am,  on  each  side. 
The  gate  is  to  make  seclusion,"  she  explained. 

"Good-by,"  she  said,  standing  on  the  steps  of  the 
piazza,  as  the  new  neighbor  turned  his  face  reluc- 
tantly toward  home.  "I  'm— I  'm  very  glad  to  make 
your  acquaintance ! " 


H 


CHAPTER  XI 

MAKING  THE   SUMMER-HOUSE 

[May] 

EKE  PETEK  TKOMMEL  was  very  busy  in  his 
greenhouse,  apron  on  and  sleeves  rolled  up,  but 
for  once  the  plants  were  deserted.  He  was  leaning 
over  the  potting-bench,  a  stubby  pencil  in  one  big 
hand,  absorbed  in  his  work  on  a  paper  before  him. 
At  last  he  straightened  his  back  with  a  little  grunt 
of  satisfaction.  "Ha!  that  is  right!"  Then  he 
chuckled  to  himself,  "Peter  Trommel,  you  old 
foolish  one,  you  better  go  out  for  a  children's  nurse 
and  let  the  plants  alone  !  "  Then  he  bent  over  the 
sketch  again,  regarding  it  with  growing  admiration. 
"But  it  will  be  a  fine  little  garden-house!"  he  ex- 
claimed. "I  could  not  let  that  dear  child  have  a 
thing  of  chicken-wire,  and  she  was  sure  we  must  have 
a  summer-house.  This  small  latticed  thing  will  be 
84 


MAKING   THE   SUMMER-HOUSE          85 

easy  enough  to  make— just  lath,  and  four  posts  to 
keep  it  from  upsetting  ;  the  Herr  Papa  will  send  the 
carpenter,  and  we  shall  have  it  all  done  while  the 
little  lady  is  away." 

Then  he  returned  to  his  figuring.  "She  is  not 
more  than  four  feet  high.  If  I  make  the  little  house 
six  feet,  that  should  give  plenty  of  room— the  child 
will  not  grow  that  much  more  this  summer ;  and  if  I 
make  the  door  four  and  a  half  feet,  that  should  be 
right.  It  is  well  to  keep  out  the  big  people.  Then  I 
make  the  two  doorways,  one  on  each  side,  two  feet 
wide ;  it  will  so  look  more  like  the  little  arbor  and 
less  like  the  box.  Yes. 

"That  carpenter-man,  that  William,  shall  put  in 
the  upright  posts.  Then  we  shall  have  the  four  pieces 
to  join  them  at  the  top  ;  they  should  be  2  x4.  That  is 
the  framework.  Then  we  shall  put  on  the  laths  to 
make  a  lattice.  We  might  make  latticed  sides  and 
then  put  them  up,  so  that  the  little  house  may  be 
pulled  down  but  not  demolished.  Yes  ! "  He  paused 
in  his  soliloquizing,  and  looked  with  pride  at  the 
rough  sketch— the  summer-house  to  be.  "  It  may  not 
add  to  the  landscape  effect,  but  it  will  make  for  com- 
fort, and  that  is  also  something  in  a  garden.  If  I  could 
but  make  a  tiny  chalet !  But  to  put  it  in  an  American 


86  MAEY'S  GAEDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GEEW 

back  yard—"  He  gave  a  little  grunt  of  disgust.  "It 
is  not  Peter  Trommel  that  wwuld  do  such  wicked- 
ness ! " 

"Mr.  Trommel  —  "  The  old  man  started  guiltily 
and  thrust  the  paper  in  haste  within  a  capacious 
apron  pocket. 

"Good  morning,  good  morning  ! "  he  said  hastily. 

"I  came  over  to  say  good-by,  Mr.  Trommel.  I  'm 
going  away  for  a  whole  week  ! "  announced  Mary, 
delightedly.  "Did  you  know  it?  " 

"The  Herr  Papa  said  something  to  me  of  it,"  ad- 
mitted Mr.  Trommel. 

"We  are  going  away  on  business,  father  and  I," 
she  said  with  dignity.  "He  wanted  mother  to  go, 
but  she  would  n't,  so  I  have  to  go  and  take  care  of 
him  ;  there  has  to  be  some  one,  you  know." 

Mr.  Trommel  nodded  appreciatively. 

"Father  says  I'm  his  'second-best' !  "  added  Mary. 

"The  second  is  one  more  than  the  first,"  agreed 
Herr  Trommel.  "I  am  glad  the  Herr  Papa  is  to  have 
so  good  superintendence ;  but  the  plants  and  I  will 
miss  you,  Liebchen  !  " 

"That  is  what  is  on  my  mind,"  said  the  under-gar- 
dener,  growing  suddenly  serious  and  fixing  troubled 
brown  eyes  on  the  old  man's  face.  "Do  you  think 


MAKING   THE   SUMMEE-HOUSE          87 

the  garden  will  be  all  right  for  a  week?  The  sweet 
peas  and  the  poppies  have  gotten  up,  you  know,  and 
they  're  growing !  I  thought  of  asking  Norah  to 
water  them  for  me,  but  she  might  take  a  pail  of 
water  out  to  my  garden  and  put  it  on  with  the  mop  ! 
Do  you  think  it  is  safe  to  go  ?  " 

Mr.  Trommel  laughed.  "The  little  things  may  be 
lonesome,  but  they  will  not  suffer  j  there  are  dew  and 
rain,  you  know.  Lieber  Gott  does  not  leave  every- 
thing to  you  and  me,  or  there  would  not  be  many 
pretty  flowers  in  the  world.  Besides,  the  old  Peter 
will  sometimes  take  a  look  at  the  little  garden." 

"Would  you  truly,  Mr.  Trommel?" 

"Truly,"  smiled  the  old  man.  "  I  sit  here  after 
supper,  smoking  my  pipe ;  it  will  not  hurt  to  stretch 
the  old  legs  and  cross  the  street  and  look  over  the 
fence.  No." 

"It  would— it  would  be  such  a  relief! "  said  Mary. 

"It  is  a  very  small  thing  to  do  for  a  very  particu- 
lar friend,"  declared  the  old  gardener,  with  a  precise 
little  bow,  as  he  bade  his  fellow-worker  good-by. 
"Take  good  care  of  the  Herr  Papa,  little  one ! "  he 
called,  as  the  small  figure  reached  the  door. 

The  next  day  Mr.  Trommel  stood  in  the  garden 
inclosure  in  the  Maxwells'  yard,  wherein  the 


88  MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

four  posts  had  just  been  placed  to  his  satisfaction, 
each  one  sunk  nearly  four  feet  in  the  ground.  "I 
do  not  wish  that  the  little  house  should  upset, 
William,"  he  said  to  the  carpenter,  who  had  turned 
in  disapproval  and  was  measuring  for  the  frame- 
work. 

There  were  clothes  drying  in  the  fore  part  of  the 
yard,  and  every  ten  minutes  Norah's  bright  red  head 
appeared  here  and  there  among  them — evidently 
she  was  anxious  to  find  them  dry ;  then  she  would 
walk  toward  the  end  of  the  yard  and  hang  expec- 
tantly over  the  little  garden  gate.  At  the  third  visit 
she  could  wait  no  longer.  "Whatever  is  it?"  she 
inquired. 

Herr  Trommel  fixed  her  with  his  spectacles.  "My 
good  Norah,"  he  said,  ''it  is  a  beautiful  and  interest- 
ing thing  to  watch  what  Time  will  bring  forth. 
Sometimes  it  is  quite  surprising "  ;  and  he  turned 
again  to  his  work. 

Norah  went  into  the  house  with  a  "don't-care" 
toss  of  her  head,  this  time  taking  the  clothes-basket 
with  her. 

No  sooner  had  the  red  head  disappeared  than  the 
yellow  head  of  the  new  neighbor  popped  up  above 
the  board  fence.  He  watched  in  silence  as  long  as  it 


MAKING   THE   SUMMEK-HOUSE          89 

was  possible,  while  the  carpenter  sawed  the  cross- 
pieces  and  Mr.  Trommel  inspected  the  baby  sweet 
peas. 

"Say,"  he  burst  out  at  last,  "are  those  clothes- 


posts  t— are  you  making  a  drying-yard  ?  Or  are  they 
posts  for  horizontal  bars  ?  Is  it  a  support  for  the  pole 
you  use  in  doing  the  pole  vault?  Perhaps  it's  for 
parallel  bars,  or — " 

"Young  man,"  interrupted  Mr.  Trommel,  eying 
him  with  disapproving  spectacles,  "did  you  not  learn 
at  school  that  it  is  much  better  for  the  lungs  that 
you  breathe  through  the  nose  I  Yes  !  And  to  do  that 
you  may  find  it  necessary  to  close  the  lips.  We 
must  make  great  sacrifices  for  health." 

The  boy  stared  blankly  for  a  moment,  then  re- 
lapsed into  an  aggrieved  silence. 


90  MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

"I  think  you  might  tell  a  fellow,"  he  said,  after  a 
few  minutes. 

Herr  Trommel  fixed  scrutinizing  spectacles  on 
the  round  face  under  its  thatch  of  yellow  hair  ;  then 
he  suddenly  relented.  "I  am  but  a  cross  old  fellow, 
my  lad,"  he  said  good-humo redly.  "I  do  not  like  to 
be  interrupted.  We  make  here  a  little  summer-house  ; 
these  are  the  posts  for  it.  You  will  not  hurt  the  little 
garden  if  I  let  you  come  over  and  see  what  we  do?  " 

"I  won't  hurt  a  thing,"  he  promised  eagerly. 

"You  see,"  said  Herr  Trommel,  affably,  "we  make 
it  while  the  little  lady  is  away.  We  are  now  ready 
to  put  on  the  laths,  to  make  the  lattice.  William," 
he  said  suddenly,  addressing  the  patient  carpenter, 
"you  have  that  lath  slanted  too  much.  I  wish  the 
holes  in  diamond  shape— not  a  long,  pulled- out 
diamond. 

"I  am  no  architect,  my  lad,"  he  said,  turning  to 
the  spectator,  "but  I  have  observed  that  when  a 
diamond  or  a  circle  is  pulled  out  long  up  and  down, 
it  becomes  solemn  j  it  has  a  touch  of  melancholy- 
like  when  you  make  a  long  face.  Yes.  A  building 
that  is  low  and  spreading  will  more  probably  look 
cheerful,  while  one  that  is  squeezed  and  made  very 
tall  may  look  sad ;  at  least,  I  think  so." 


MAKING  THE  SUMMER-HOUSE          91 

The  boy  nodded  respectful  assent. 

"Mr.  Trommel,  wouldn't  you  let  me  help?  I 
could  nail  on  those  laths.  "We  do  carpenter  work  at 
school,  you  know." 

"Shall  we  let  him  try,  William?"  asked  Herr 
Trommel. 

"Maybe  't  would  n't  do  no  harm,"  was  the  carpen- 
ter's non-committal  reply.  "Begin  at  the  bottom, 
young  feller,  and  put  them  just  where  I  've  marked — 
six  inches  apart." 

"That  is  not  so  bad,  eh,  William?"  observed 
Herr  Trommel,  judiciously  inspecting  the  new  assis- 
tant's work. 

But  the  carpenter  only  grunted. 

"I  have  a  garden,  too,  Mr.  Trommel,"  said  the 
boy,  rather  shyly,  after  working  in  silence  for  some 
minutes. 

"Yes  ?    And  what  have  you  in  it  ?  " 

"Mine 's  all  vegetables— peas  and  radishes  and  let- 
tuce, and  corn,  too.  It 's  only  just  planted." 

"No  flowers?"  inquired  Herr  Trommel. 

"No ;  I  have  n't  a  very  big  patch." 

"That  is  wrong,"  said  Herr  Trommel,  decisively. 
"The  liebe  Gott  did  not  make  us  all  stomach ;  he 
did  not  make  all  the  growing  things  to  put  in  the 


92     MARY'S   GARDEN  AND    HOW   IT   GREW 

mouth  ;  and  even  the  things  to  eat  he  took  trouble  to 
make  beautiful.  You  should  have  flowers  in  your 
garden  to  show  the  Hebe  Gott  that  you  care  a  little 
for  the  pretty  things  he  made— that  you  do  not,  like 
a  baby,  wish  to  put  everything  into  the  mouth ;  the 
flowers— they  get  into  your  heart,  my  child. 

"I  think,  when  we  thin  the  plants  here,  we  shall 
have  some  pretty  things  to  pass  over  the  fence,"  the 
old  man  added  encouragingly. 


CHAPTER  XII 

MARY  LEARNS   PRUNING 

[May] 

"  T  DO  some  pruning  this  afternoon,"  remarked  Mr. 

-I-  Trommel  to  the  under-gardener,  who  was  swing- 
ing sociably  on  his  gate ;  it  is  not  always  easy  to  go 
straight  home  from  school. 

"Suppose  I  come  over  and  help  you?"  suggested 
Mary,  eagerly.  "I  have  a  knife  now." 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  assented  the  old  gardener. 
"And  how  does  the  little  garden?  "  he  asked. 

"Oh,  everything's  coming  up  :  poppies  and  ragged- 
sailors  and—  What  makes  so  many  things  look  alike 
when  they  're  just  coming  up?  "  she  asked,  breaking 
off  suddenly.  "They  all  seem  to  begin  with  the  two 
little  round  leaves." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Trommel,  "I  suppose  it  must  be 
because  they  are  very  little.  Some  people  think  very 
93 


94  MAEY'S  GAEDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GEEW 

little  babies  look  all  alike  ;  they  have  much  the  same 
clothes.  The  fathers  and  mothers  can  tell  their  own 
babies  when  other  people  cannot.  You  cannot  tell 
from  a  little  baby  what  he  will  be  like  when  he  grows 
up." 

"I  must  go  home  now,"  said  the  under-gardener, 
climbing  reluctantly  down  from  the  gate.  "Oh,  Mr. 
Trommel,  I  almost  forgot !  Norah  said  she  was  going 
to  make  cookies  this  morning.  If  I  can,  I  '11  bring 
you  over  some,"  she  promised.  "Which  do  you  like 
better— the  ones  with  the  hole  in  the  middle  and  the 
crinkled  edges,  or  just  round?" 

The  old  man  laughed.  "I  think  I  like  the  crinkled 
edges  best,"  he  said. 

That  afternoon  Herr  Trommel  had  just  taken  his 
pruning-shears  down  from  the  hook  when  his  assis- 
tant presented  herself.  She  held  both  hands  behind 
her  back.  "I  've  got  the  cookies,  Mr.  Trommel," 
she  announced.  "Which  hand  will  you  have? 
Choose." 

Herr  Trommel  meditated  a  moment.  "Let  me  see," 
he  said  reflectively.  "I  was  to  have  the  crinkled 
edges  and  the  hole— yes.  That  should  be  the  right 
hand.  Ah,  yes !  Prachtvoll !  I  thank  you,  little 
one." 


MAEY   LEAKNS   PRUNING  95 

"I  had  the  crinkled  ones  in  each  hand,"  confided 
Mary,  "so  you  would  be  sure  not  to  make  a  mistake." 

"That  was  well.  Tell  the  good  Norah,"  he  added, 
"that  I  have  much  enjoyed  transporting  her  excellent 
cookies.  Now,  Liebchen,  we  must  to  work.  Tell  me," 
he  demanded,  fixing  sternly  inquiring  spectacles  on 
the  assistant's  astonished  face,  "tell  me,  my  child, 
when  would  you  cut  back  a  shrub?  Before  it  has 
bloomed,  or  after,  or  when  the  flowers  are  on  if? " 

Mary  hesitated  a  moment.  "If  it  was  very  pretty," 
she  said  at  last,  "I  think  I  could  n't  cut  it  until  after 
the  flowers  were  gone,  or  a  little  faded,  anyway." 

Mr.  Trommel  beamed  approval.  "That  is  right ; 
a  child  knows  that.  But  look  in  the  next  yard — 
those  bushes  just  over  the  fence.  He  is  a  new  fellow 
there.  He  has  just  this  year  come  out  from  the  city. 
It  is  possible  that  he  may  be  a  good  man ;  but  look 
at  those  forsythias  !  You  know  the  forsythia?  " 

"The  one  with  the  little  yellow  bells?"  asked 
Mary. 

"Yes,  yes.  Now  think  of  the  wickedness,  my 
child,"  said  Mr.  Trommel,  pointing  at  the  unfortu- 
nate shrubs,  "The  poor  dears  had  been  looking  for- 
ward all  the  year  to  the  pretty  yellow  Easter  dresses, 
and  see  what  he  has  done  to  "them  !  Pruned  them? 


MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 


No !    He  has   beheaded   them !     He  has  chopped 
their  heads  off  just  as  they  were  about  to  look  their 

prettiest.  That 
man  may  be  a 
'good  bricklayer ; 
he  may  do  well  at 
pounding  down 
paving-stones  in 
a  street.  But  a 
good  gardener? 
Pah !  He  is  nobet- 
ter  than  a  mow- 
ing-machine ! 
"Come,'  now,  and  I  will  show  you  how  it  should  be 
done.  This  is  forsythia  too,  but  it  is  not  so  thick, 
not  so  stuffed  at  the  base,  as  that  poor  thing  across 
the  fence  j  I  have  pruned  it  each  year,  that  it  might 
have  air. 

"Look,  now,  little  one.  Tell  me  what  you  think  we 
should  do  first.  What  branches  has  the  shrub  that 
it  does  not  wish  to  have!" 

Mary  regarded  the  shrub  attentively ;  she  walked 
around  it ;  she  even  squatted  down  on  the  ground 
and  peered  up  through  the  branches.  "I  think,  Mr. 
Trommel,"  she  said  at  last,  judicially,  "I  think  it 


SHRUB  AS  IT  is  OFTEN  PRUNED  AND  AS  IT 

SHOULD  NOT  BE  PRUNED 


MAKY   LEARNS   PRUNING  97 

might  like  to  have  those  dead  branches  taken 
away." 

"That  is  right,  that  is  right,'?  said  the  old  gardener, 
delightedly,  as  he  cut  them  out.  "See,  we  cut  close 
to  the  stem,  so  we  do  not  leave  anything  ugly.  I  cut 
it  with  the  shears.  Then  I  take  my  knife  and  make 
it  smooth  close  to  the  stem.  The  forsythia  would 
hardly  know  now  that  it  had  ever  had  a  branch  here. 

"We  have  the  dead  stuff  out ;  now  I  show  you 
what  we  do  next.  You  see  these  straight  thick 
shoots  in  the  middle  of  the  bush?" 

Mary  bent  and  looked  in.  "I  can  see  them,  Mr. 
Trommel,  growing  straight  up  from  the  roots." 

"Yes.  When  the  shrub  grows  rightly,  the  branches 
spread  more  and  more,  and  new  little  shoots  come  out 
on  the  older  branches ;  that  is  the  place  for  them. 
These  things  are  upstarts  :  they  come  where  it  is  not 
their  place  to  come ;  they  take  the  food  from  the 
roots  which  does  not  belong  to  them ;  they  do  not 
pay  for  it  either,  for  they  blossom  but  little.  They 
are  'suckers,'  and  when  you  see  a  'sucker'  you 
should  cut  it  out." 

"Oh,  I  've  heard  of  'suckers,' "  broke  in  the  assis- 
tant. "I  caught  a  fish  by  that  name  once." 

"And  was  it  good?"  demanded  Herr  Trommel. 


98  MAKY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

"Father  did  n't  think  so,  Mr.  Trommel,"  replied 
Mary,  regretfully.  "He  said,  'Did  n't  Donald  know 
better  than  to  let  you  bring  home  that  old  thing!' 
And  it  was  the  only  fish  I  ever  caught  my  own  self"  ; 
and  her  face  clouded  for  a  moment  with  the  sadness 
of  the  recollection. 

"The  Herr  Papa  was  right,"  declared  Herr  Trom- 
mel ;  "if  it  had  not  been  for  the  sucker  in  the  pond, 
there  might  have  been  better  fish  for  you.  I  have 
yet  to  see  a  kind  of  sucker  that  is  good.  When  we 
find  them  on  the  shrubs  we  cut  them  out— so,"  he  said 
with  a  little  grunt,  as  he  removed  the  offenders. 

"Now  is  that  one  all  done?"  asked  Mary. 

"No,  no,  little  one ;  that  is  the  easy  part.  Now 
comes  the— what  you  call  it— the  artistic  work. 
Now  watch  closely." 

"I  can't  watch  any  closer,  Mr.  Trommel!"  pro- 
tested the  under-gardener,  distressed  and  a  little  out 
of  temper.  "  My  head  's  right  up  against  the  bush." 

"Lieber  Himmel!"  exclaimed  Herr  Trommel. 
('Do  not  make  an  Absalom  of  yourself,  Liebchen,  on 
my  poor  forsythia.\  It  is  not  a  matter  of  nearness, 
but  of  sight.  Stand  behind  me  and  you  shall  see 
easily  what  we  do. 

"I  take  this  branch  off;  you  see,  it  is  in  the  way 


MARY   LEAKNS   PRUNING  99 

of  that  one ;  besides,  he  should  branch  outward, 
where  there  is  room  in  plenty,  not  inward,  where 
there  is  little.  The  flowers  can  only  come  outside, 
where  there  is  sun  and  air,  not  inside,  where  there 
is  none.  That  is  why  we  '  thin  it,'  we  say." 

"Let  me  cut  one,  Mr.  Trommel,"  begged  Mary. 

"Well,  well,"  assented  the  old  man,  "it  is  only 
forsythia.  You  will  need  two  hands  for  the  shears, 
I  think  -so." 

"That  branch  is  bothering  that  one,"  decided  the 
under-gardener,  "and  we  take  off  the  least  prettiest 
one,  don't  we?  and  it  's  an  ingrowing  branch, 
too." 

Herr  Trommel  nodded  approval. 

"Do  not  leave  a  snag." 

"What  is  a 'snag'?" 

"A  snag  is  where  you  do  not  cut  off 
the  branch  close,  when  you  cut  it — 
so." 

Mary  shut  her  eyes  in  an  intensity  of  effort  as 
she  brought  the  pruning-shears  together.  "I  cut  it 
close  !  But— it 's  quite  hard  work,  Mr.  Trommel,"  she 
confessed,  handing  back  the  shears. 

"That  is  a  frequent  difficulty  with  work,  little 
one,"  admitted  the  old  man. 


100    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 


"Now  we  do  the  last  thing  for  this  fellow:  we 
shorten  the  branches  and  take  off  perhaps  half  the 
last  year's  growth.  Perhaps/'  he  said  magnani- 
mously, "this  is  what  that  poor  fellow  yonder," — and 

he  looked  toward  the 
butchered  forsythias 
over  the  fence,  — 
"perhaps  this  is  what 
he  thought  to  do. 
See,  we  make  a  slant- 
ing cut  and  leave  the 
last  eye  on  the  out- 
side— so." 

"Why  do  you  do 
that?"  asked  Mary. 

"Why?"  repeated 
Herr  Trommel.  "So  it  will  branch  out,  not  in  ;  so 
that  the  leaves  that  are  peeking  out  shall  see  outside 
and  not  look  down  the  air-shaft,  as  my  poor  nephew 
does  in  the  city. 

"There,  we  are  finished  with  that  fellow,"  he  said, 

straightening  his  back  with  a  sigh  of  relief.     "He 

feels  very  comfortable,  and  yet  he  is  not  hacked." 

f      "It 's  too  bad  about  those  forsythias  next  door,"  said 

/     Mary,  noticing  the  contrast.     "They  must  feel  like 


DIAGRAM  OF  SHRUB  SHOWING 
"  THINNING  OUT  " 


MARY,    LEARNS   PRUNING  101 

the  old  woman  who  fell  asleep  on  the  King's  High- 
way." 

"The  King's  Highway?"  said  Mr.  Trommel,  per- 
plexed for  a  moment.  "Yes,  yes,  I  remember ;  she 
was  the  old  lady  who  had  her  dresses  made  short 
while  she  slept ;  yes,  yes.  It  would  be  much  the 
same  feeling,  I  think ;  but  I  doubt  not  that  the  for- 
sythias'  dresses  were  prettier.  Anyway,  it  is  an 
unkind  thing  to  do.  We  wait  until  the  shrub  is 
through  with  the  pretty  dresses  before  we  take  them 
away." 

"What  do  we  prune  next?  "  asked  Mary.  "I  know 
how  now." 

"We  go  now,"  said  Mr.  Trommel,  walking  ahead  of 
his  assistant  down  the  narrow  box-bordered  path, 
"we  go  now  to -an  invalid.  This  is  my  invalid,"  he 
said,  stopping  in  front  of  a  large  Japanese  quince. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  it t "  inquired  Mary.  "It 
looks  as  if  there  was  something  wrong." 

The  old  gardener  shook  his  head  sadly.  "I  think 
it  has  the  nervous  prostration,  Liebchen." 

"Nervous  prostration  ! "  echoed  his  listener.  "Oh, 
I  know  all  about  that !  Mother  had  it,  and  Donald 
had  it  when  he  came  back  from  college,  and  grandma 
had  it,  and  Aunt  Margaret  has  it  now,"  she  enumer- 


102    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

ated  proudly.  "That  was  what  father  talked  about 
when  mother  said  I  did  n't  practise  enough  and 
that  I  got  very  dirty  in  the  garden." 

"And  .what  did  the  Herr  Papa  say?"  inquired 
Mr.  Trommel,  politely,  as  he  surveyed  the  invalid 
quince. 

The  under-gardener  drew  a  long  breath.  "  He 
said,  'For  heaven's  sake,  Helen,  let  the  child  dig  in 
the  dirt ;  we  have  enough  nervous  wrecks  in  the 
family  ! '  But  I  think  he  was  not  talking  to  me," 
she  explained.  "How  did  the  quince  get  nervous 
prostration,  Mr.  Trommel  ?  " 

"Well,"  said  the  old  gardener,  slowly,  "it  has  been 
working  hard  for  a  long  time  and  blossoming  very 
profusely ;  there  have  been  many  branches  to  take 
care  of.  Then,  it  has  entertained  toe  many  visitors, 
for  the  insects  all  like  to  come ;  and  then,  the  hard 
winter,  that  has  nearly  made  an  end  of  it.  I  say  it 
has  the  nervous  prostration." 

"But  what  can  you  do  when  a  shrub  has  that?" 
questioned  Mary,  in  perplexity.  "We  put  Aunt 
Margaret  in  a  sanatorium." 

"That  is  what  I  do  with  him.  I  put  him  in  a — a 
1  rest-cure.' " 

"But  when  mother  was  in  a  rest-cure,  she  had  to 


MARY    LEARNS   PRUNING  103 

stay  in  bed  all  the  time,  and  have  massage,  and  she 
did  n't  have  dinners  or  lunches,  but  all  the  time  what 
the  nurse  called  '  nourishment.' " 

"Yes,  yes ;  that  is  what  I  do  to  him." 

"Oh,  are  you  cutting  it  all  down?"  said  Mary,  in 
alarm. 

"Down  to  the  ground,"  replied  Herr  Trommel, 
resolutely.  "That  is  the  way  I  put  him  to  bed.  He 
will  do  little  now  for  a  year ;  the  roots  now  have 
nothing  to  do  but  eat  and  rest — there  are  now  no 
children  to  take  care  of.  Then  I  give  it  good 
manure  ;  that  is  the  nourishment,  and  it  should  have 
plenty,.  And  I  stir  the  ground—  that  shall  be  for  the 
massage.  The  roots  will  just  take  in,— take  in  and 
rest  and  grow  fat  and  strong, — and  next  year  there 
will  be  fine  new  shoots  and  flowers,  and  he  will  feel 
quite  well  again." 

"I  'm  glad  of  that,  Mr.  Trommel ;  but  it  looks 
now  as  if  it  felt  worse  than  the  forsythias  over  the 
fence." 

"Perhaps  he  does,"  admitted  Mr.  Trommel,  "but 
—I  had  to  do  it.  That  is  his  one  chance  of  regain- 
ing his  health." 

"Why  don't  you  ever  prune  him?"  asked  Mary, 
as  they  came  to  a  fat,  comfortable-looking  yew. 


104    MAKY'S  GAKDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GEEW 

Mr.  Trommel  snipped  one  or  two  protruding 
shoots.  "The  evergreens  do  not  need  it  but  only  a 
very  little.  They  are  quiet  folk.  They  do  not  put 
the  pretty  dresses  on  and  off  like  the  flowering  shrubs. 
They  get  from  the  Mother  Nature  the  strong,  substan- 
tial clothes,  and  wear  the  same  thing  winter  and  sum- 
mer. When  they  grow  in  July,  they  only  put  the 
fresh  green  leaves  on  the  little  new  shoots  j  they  do 
not  have  new  dresses  every  spring.  There  is  not  so 
much  cutting  and  fixing  for  them." 

"I  understand,"  said  the  assistant. 

"Ah,  you  will  make  a  fine  gardener  some  day,  lit' 
tie  one,"  he  said,  as  they  stood  at  the  gate.  "Then 
perhaps  you  will  have  the  great  country  place  of 
your  own,  and  your  carriage—" 

"I  'd  rather  have  an  automobile,"  interrupted 
Mary,  giving  the  gate  an  energetic  swing. 

"The  noisy,  rushing  things  !  "  said  Herr  Trommel, 
disapprovingly.  "Well,  but  you  will  have  a  gardener 
'  to  plant  and  to  oversee  for  you.  Then  sometime 
you  will  say,  '  Michael,  you  do  not  prune  that  shrub 
right.  Give  me  the  shears.  I  will  show  you.'  Then 
perhaps  you  will  remember  the  old  Peter  who  taught 
you  how." 

The  gate  stopped  swinging  a  moment     "I  '11  say, 


MARY    LEARNS   PRUNING  105 

1  Michael,  where  did  you  learn  such  methods  ? ' "  said 
the  under-gardener,  sternly.  Then  she  laughed.  "I 
must  go  home,"  she  said  reluctantly  ;  "but  I  ?ve  had 
a  beautiful  time." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A  NEW  IDEA 

[May] 

"1%/TAY  is  a  very  busy  month  for  us  gardeners,"  said 
.IJ-I-  Mary  to  her  father. 

The  two  were  walking  together  toward  the  railway 
station,  for  on  Saturday  mornings  it  was  Mary's  cus- 
tom to  see  her  father  safely  started  for  town.  They 
were  walking  fast.  Everybody  in  Brookside  walks 
fast  in  the  morning,  for  almost  everybody  is  going  to 
catch  a  train.  Overhead  the  leaves  were  dancing  in 
the  May  sunshine,  and  here  and  there  on  the  different 
lawns  azaleas  made  patches  of  brilliant  color.  « 

"Just  look ! "  cried  Mary,  as  they  passed  Judge 
Patterson's  place.  "Are  n't  they  pretty?  They  have 
all  those  lovely  colors  just  to  show  the  tulips  that 
nobody  minds  that  they  had  to  go  away." 

"Azaleas,  are  n't  they!"  said  Mr.  Maxwell. 
106 


A  NEW   IDEA  107 

"Yes.  And  I  know  the  last  name,  too  ;  it 's  Azalea 
mollis.  I  suppose  that  means  it  's  Molly's  azalea. 
That 's  the  way  we  say  it.  But  when  it 's  a  flower, 
you  turn  it  round  and  say,  '  azalea  Molly's.'  " 

"I  understand." 

"My  seeds  are  all  planted,  and  your  garden  's 
planted,  too ;  and  then  I  have  to  set  out  the  things 
from  the  boxes  ;  and  then  there  is  my  hedge  to  plant ; 
and  the  weeds  have  begun  to  grow,  too,"  went  on  the 
small  gardener  ;  "and  you  know  you  have  to  pull  up 
the  weeds  when  they  are  little,  because  Mr.  Trommel 
says  it's  better  to— to— e-rad-icate  evil  when  it  is  little 
than  when  it  is  big." 

Mr.  Maxwell  laughed.  "Don't  you  find  it  hard  to 
know  which  is  which  when  they  're  all 'very  little? 
Don't  you  ever  eradicate  a  plant  by  mistake?" 

Mary  looked  serious. 

"It  is  hard  to  tell,  and  I  've  made  some  mistakes. 
I  eradicated  some  little  plants  that  I  thought  were 
weeds,"  she  admitted.  "But— but  that  's  what  Mr. 
Trommel  says,  anyway,"  she  ended  conclusively. 

"School  interferes  very  much  with  your  regular 
work,  father ;  and  May  is  a  very  busy  month  for  us 
gardeners,"  she  said  again.  "And  yet  there  is  just  as 
much  to  do  at  school  as  if  it  was  February,  when 


108    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

there  is  n't  anything  else  to  do  but  go  to  school ;  and 
we  have  nature  study  now,  too." 

"Don't  the  private  lessons  in  horticulture  count  off 
anything  on  the  nature  study?" 

The  under-gardener  shook  her  head.  "Oh,  but  it 
helps  a  good  deal,"  she  said,  brightening.  "Last  week 
I  wrote  about  l  suckers '  for  my  composition,  and  Miss 
Bronson  said  it  was  '  very  instructive,' "  she  repeated 
with  pride. 

"I  should  think  it  might  have  been.  Can  you  keep 
a  secret,  Mary,  and  not  tell  anybody  ?  " 

"Of  course  I  can. 

'  Honest,  true,  black  and  blue ; 
Lay  me  down  and  cut  me  in  two ' 

if  I  tell,"  she  repeated  firmly. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "of  course  you  '11  do  your  best  at 
school ;  but  I  promise  I  won't  mind  one  bit  if  you 
don't  bring  home  such  very,  very  extra  good  reports 
as  you  've  had  all  winter." 

"What!"  gasped  Mary,  in  astonishment.  "You 
mean  you  'd  like  me  just  as  much  if — if  I  did  n't 
know  anything,  like  Eleanor  Thomas?" 

"I  'd  like  you  just  as  well,"  he  said  resolutely. 

"And  you  would  n't  be  horribly  ashamed  when 


A   NEW  IDEA  109 

anybody  says,  l  How  's  your  little  girl  getting  along  ? ' 
and  you  would  n't  say,  '  Why,  Mary,  I  'm  surprised  ! ' 
if  Margaret  pushed  the  door  back  at  the  morning  ex- 
ercises instead  of  me  ?  " 

"I  think  I  could  stand  it,  Mary,"  he  said. 

The  under-gardener  drew  a  sigh  of  relief.  "Well," 
she  said,  "I  'm  not  going  to  the  bottom  of  the  class 
—that  would  be  awful !  But  maybe  I  won't  care  so 
much  if  I  'm  four  or  five  from  the  best  mark  instead 
of  having  just  Donald  ahead  of  me.  He  has  a  garden, 
too. 

"Oh,  and  what  do  you  think  we  're  going  to  have  ? 
I  did  n't  tell  you,  father." 

"Can't  imagine,"  answered  Mr.  Maxwell. 

"We-ell,"  she  began,  "we  're  going  to  have  a 
gardening  club,  and  nobody  's  to  be  in  it  'cept  they 
have  a  garden  they  made  themselves ;  and  Miss 
Bronson  's  going  to  help  us  start,  but  she  is  n't  going 
to  be  in  it,  because  she  has  n't  a  garden ;  and  it 's  go- 
ing to  be  this  afternoon  at  Margaret's,  at  the  Juvenile 
Bug  Association  place." 

"Juvenile  Bug  Association?"  repeated  Mr.  Max- 
well. "Oh,  yes,  I  remember.  It  hibernated,  I  sup- 
pose, and  has  waked  up  in  this  form— is  that  it?" 

"There  's  the  room  now ;  you  can  see,"  said  Mary, 


110     MAKY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GEEW 

pointing  ;  "there  in  the  big  water-tower,  next  to  the 
Dicksons'  barn— see  that  little  window  half-way  up 
the  side?  That  's  the  Bug  Association's  room. 
There  's  Margaret  now,"  she  broke  off  suddenly, 
catching  sight  of  something  very  like  a  heap  of  blue 
gingham  on  the  Dicksons'  driveway.  "Ma-ar-g'ret !  " 

A  head  was  raised  above  the  blue  gingham. 
"Oo-oo-oo  ! "  responded  Margaret,  without  rising  from 
the  game  of  marbles.  (This  means  "good  morning  " 
or  "how  are  you,"  "yes,  I  'm  coming"  ;  it  also  means 
"wait  a  minute.") 

"Ma-ar-g'ret!"  called  the  under-gardener,  again. 
"We  're  all  coming  this  afternoon,  Margaret,  and 
Miss  Bronson  's  coming  too  ! " 

"Mary,  you  come  early  !  " 

"I  '11  be  the  first  one  !  "  promised  Mary. 

"Who  's  going  to  be  in  your  club,  Mary  ?  "  asked 
her  father,  as  they  walked  on. 

"Oh,  just  us,"  answered  Mary.  "Margaret  and  I, 
and  Donald  and  Mildred  Patterson,  and  the  Thomas 
twins,  Buddy  and  Eleanor,— and  Haddie,  you  know." 

"Your  friend  next  door?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mary.  "I  think  we  're  going  to  have 
lots  of  fun  !  Why  don't  you  be  a  gardener,  father? 
Then  you  'd  know  everything,  like  Mr.  Trommel, 


A  NEW  IDEA  111 

and  you  would  n't  have  to  go  to  New  York  every 
day,  and  we  could  have  a  big  greenhouse  and  a 
garden  and  everything  !  " 

"I  could  n't  earn  enough  at  it  to  keep  you  in  hair- 
ribbons,  deary,  for  one  thing  j  and,  for  another,  I  'm 
afraid  it  was  n't  born  in  me." 

"It  was  n't  born  in  me  either,  father,"  she  said,  as . 
she  kissed  him  good-by,  "but  I  can  feel  it  growing 
inside  of  me  ! " 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   HORTICULTURAL   CLUB 

[May] 

fTlHE  meeting-room  of  the  Juvenile  Bug  Association 
J-  was  not  as  convenient  of  access  as  it  might  have 
been.  The  Dicksons'  was  an  old  place,  and  beside 
the  barn  stood  a  tall  water-tower  with  a  great  round 
tank  on  top,  built  before  water  was  introduced  all 
over  the  town. 

Outside,  an  enormously  long  ladder  (which  no  one 
was  allowed  to  climb)  led  up  to  the  tank ;  but  inside 
there  was  another,  shorter  ladder,  by  which  you  could 
reach  the  "second  story,"  a  rough,  unfinished  square 
room  just  under  the  great  tank.  This  was  the  room 
of  the  Bug  Association,  which  had  died  at  last  sum- 
mer's end,  and  now  the  gardening  club  seemed  likely 
to  reign  in  its  stead. 

Margaret  and  Mary  climbed  the  ladder  and  began 
112 


THE  HORTICULTURAL  CLUB          113 

at  once  to  arrange  the  scanty  furniture.  They  had 
just  moved  the  rough  bench  to  a  place  against  the 
wall  on  one  side  of  the  room  and  placed  the  unsteady 
table  at  the  other  side,  when  there  was  a  banging  on 
the  ladder. 

"Ma-ar-g'ret !  Ma-ar-g'ret ! "  called  a  voice  below, 
and  the  ladder  rattled  again.  "Ma-ar-g'ret,  can't  I 
come  up  ? " 

Margaret  went  to  the  opening.  "You  go  right 
away,  Harold  Dickson ! "  she  called  down  sternly. 
''You  go  find  Annie  or  mother  or  some  one,  or  go 
play.  You  can't  come  up.  You  're  too  little,  and 
you  must  n't  tag." 

"I  think  you  might,  Marg'ret,"  and  he  gave  the 
ladder  a  disconsolate  bang. 

"There  ought  to  be  two  chairs,"  said  Margaret,  re- 
turning to  her  duties  after  having  disposed  of  the 
small  brother,  "one  for  Miss  Bronson  and  the  other 
for  the  chairman.  I  '11  run  in  the  house  and  get 
them,  Mary  j  and  then,  when  I  come  back,  you  let 
down  the  rope,  and  I  '11  tie  the  chair  on,  and  you 
pull  it  up." 

Mary  nodded  assent.  "You  hurry,  Margaret. 
They  '11  be  coming  soon,"  she  warned. 

But  before  Margaret  was  back,  the  yellow  head  of 


114     MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

Randolph  Findlayson  appeared  above  the  hole  in  the 
floor. 

"Is  n't  this  a  fine  place  !  "  he  said,  looking  around 
admiringly  before  climbing  the  remaining  rungs  of 
the  ladder.  The  ladder  reached  only  to  the  opening, 
so  that  it  was  necessary  to  enter  the  room,  of  the  Bug 
Association  on  your  hands  and  knees.  Then  he  hur- 
ried to  look  out  of  one  of  the  windows.  "  Oh,  they  're 
coming,  Mary  ! "  he  exclaimed  excitedly.  "I  can  see 
'way  down  the  street.  There  's  Buddy  Thomas,  and 
Donald  and  Mildred  Patterson.  Yes,  and  there  's 
Miss  Bronson,  too.  And  who 's  that  with  her  ?  Eleanor 
^Thomas?  Oh,  Mary,  you  are  n't  going  to  have  her?  " 

Mary  had  stepped  up  on  the  bench,  and  was 
looking  out,  too.  "There  they  are,"  she  said. 
"Yes,  that  's  Eleanor.  Why  don't  you  like  Elea- 
nor, Randolph  Finnan  Haddie  ?  I  think  she  's  very 
nice." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Randolph  Findlayson, 
with  masculine  unreason;  "her  pigtails  look  like 
molasses  candy,  and  she  cries  like  a  regular  baby 
when  you  are  n't  doing  anything  to  her." 

But  a  noise  below  made  Mary  jump  suddenly  from 
the  bench.  "There  !  There  's  Margaret  back  !  " 
she  exclaimed. 


116    MAEY'S  GAEDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GEEW 

"Ma-ree'  ! "  called  the  voice  below  ;  "quick,  they  're 
coming ! " 

The  under-gardener  lowered  the  rope  hastily. 

"Let  me  pull  it  up,  Mary.  Oh,  come  on  ! "  begged 
Eandolph  Findlayson,  looking  down  through  the 
opening  while  Margaret  was  tying  the  cord,  making 
haste  with  small,  unskilful  fingers. 

Mary  handed  over  the  rope,  but  the  chairs  and 
the  hostess  were  scarcely  up  before  the  gardeners 
had  arrived ;  one  after  another  they  came  through 
the  small  opening,  last  of  all  Miss  Bronson,  who  sat 
down  on  her  chair  and  laughed  and  straightened  her 
glasses. 

"That  chair  is  for  you,"  explained  Mary  ;  "the 
other  is  for  the  chairman.  Donald  said  we  must  have 
a.chairman,  and  Margaret  and  I  thought  the  mem- 
bers could  sit  on  the  bench.  Now,  how  do  we  start?" 
she  asked  impatiently. 

Miss  Brouson  was  still  a  trifle  out  of  breath  from  her 
trip  up  the  ladder.  "Are  all  the  gardeners  here?  " 
she  asked.  "That 's  the  first  thing  to  know." 

"Mary  and  Margaret  and  Haddie  and  Bud  and 
Eleanor  and  Mildred,"  enumerated  Donald  Patterson, 
the  biggest  boy  ;  "yes,  we  're  all  here,  Miss  Bronson." 

"Then  we  must  have  a  chairman." 


THE   HORTICULTURAL   CLUB          117 

"Donald,"  suggested  Margaret  Dickson. 
.  "Who  seconds  the  nomination  ?  " 

"I  do  ! "  said  Buddy  Thomas. 

"Take  the  chair,  Donald,"  said  Miss  Bronson. 
"Now  you  're  started,  children  ! "  she  ended  with 
a  laugh. 

Donald  belonged  to  the  boys'  club  at  St.  Andrew's, 
so  he  knew  how  things  should  be  done.  He  walked 
over  and  took  the  chair  by  the  unsteady  table. 

"Mary  ought  to  tell  us  about  the  club,  Donald," 
said  Mildred  Patterson,  a  pretty,  delicate-looking 
little  girl. 

"Second  her!"  cried  Randolph  Findlayson. 
"Mary  's  the  one  to  tell  us  about  it.  It  's  her 
club." 

"Mary  has  the  floor,"  announced  the  chairman. 

The  under-gardener  looked  down  in  some  bewil- 
derment at  the  boards  whereon  the  feet  of  the  assem- 
bly rested. 

"We  want  you  to  tell  us  about  the  garden  club, 
dear,"  explained  Miss  Bronson. 

"We-ell,"  Mary  began,  drawing  a  long  breath, 
"it's  just  this.  Last  year  we  had  the  Juvenile  Bug 
'Sociation,  and  we  caught  butterflies  and  things,  and 
this  year  we  're  all  making  gardens,  and  I  thought, 


118     MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

and  so  did  Margaret  and  Donald,  and— and  Randolph, 
that  we  could  have  meetings  and  talk  about  how  we 
did  things.  And  I  asked  Mr.  Trommel  about  it,"  she 
went  on,  drawing  another  long  breath,  "and  he  said 
'Yes,  yes,'  and  that  we  ought  to  have  an  exhibition 
at  the  end  of  the  summer  and  invite  everybody— 
like  the  Rose  Show,  you  know,  only  not  quite  so 
big." 

"Say,  that  would  be  nice,"  broke  in  Buddy 
Thomas;  "and  we  could  have  medals,  and  charge 
admission,  and  then  get  some  ice-cream  for  the 
society." 

"But,  Mary,  what  would  we  have  to  do  at  the 
meetings  ?  " 

Mary  deliberated.  "We-ell,"  said  she,  "my  mother 
belongs  to  the  League,  and  that 's  the  same  as  a  club, 
and  at  the  League  they  have  papers,  and  then  they 
all  talk,  and  that 's  '  discussion ' ;  and  then  they  have 
tea  and  chocolate  and  whipped  cream  and  cookies, 
or  those  very  nice  sorts  of  wafer  things  that  come 
in  tin  boxes ;  candy,  too,  sometimes,  but  you  call  it 
'bonbons'  then." 

"Say,  that's  nice,"  said  Buddy  Thomas,  appre- 
ciatively, "all  'cept  the  papers,"  he  added,  "and 
that  sounds  like  compositions." 


THE   HORTICULTURAL   CLUB          119 

"That  's  so  ! "  echoed  Finnan  Haddie,  dispiritedly. 

"Mr.  Chairman,"  began  Miss  Bronson. 

The  chair  recognized  her  in  his  most  dignified 
manner. 

"I  want  to  tell  the  club,"  said  Miss  Bronson,  "that 
you  need  n't  be  troubled  about  the  papers.  I  can't 
let  you  drop  the  school  work,  you  know,  but  we  can 
arrange  it  this  way  :  a  paper  which  one  of  you  reads 
before  this  club  may  be  handed  in  for  composition 
work,  and  any  sketches  or  other  work  that  you  do 
for  the  club  will  count  in  with  your  nature  study— 
if  you  bring  them  to  school  and  let  me  see  them. 
Then  you  will  have  the  fun  of  doing  the  work  for 
the  club,  and  the  papers  here  will  help  in  the  school 
work ;  for  you  won't  mind  my  seeing  what  you  do." 

The  club  looked  relieved. 

"It  will  be  ever  so  much  nicer  to  write  things  for 
our  own  club  than  to  write  a  composition,"  declared 
Eleanor. 

"The  exhibitions  will  be  the  most  fun,"  said  Buddy 
Thomas,  enthusiastically,  "and  we  '11  charge  twenty- 
five  cents  admission  and  not  just  pins." 

"But  it  won't  be  fair  !  "  put  in  Eleanor,  in  an  ag- 
grieved voice.  "Mary  '11  have  the  best  garden  and 
the  best  flowers  and  everything.  She  has  Mr.  Trom- 


120  MAEY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

mel  to  show  her.  It  won't  be  fair  for  her  to  be  in 
the  exhibition,  so  there  ! " 

The  under-gardener's  lip  quivered.  "Mr.  Trommel 
did  show  me.  He  is  my  most  intimate  friend.  But  I 
did  all  the  work  myself,"  she  began,  rather  tremu- 
lously, "and-" 

"Of  course  it  's  fair ! "  broke  in  the  loyal  Haddie. 
"Mary's  worked  harder  in  her  garden  than  anybody 
here,  and  she  's  the  littlest,  if  she  is  in  our  class ! 
Mr.  Trommel  showed  me  about  my  garden,  too  ;  and 
Mildred's  father  helped  her,  and  you  and  Buddy 
have  got  a  gardener  on  your  place  to  show  you, 
Eleanor  Thomas ;  so  's  Margaret !  And  I  don't 
care,  anyway,  if  Mary  gets  all  the  prizes  ! " 

"Good  for  you,  Finnan  Haddie  !  Eleanor  need  n't 
be  so  stingy  ! "  said  Buddy  Thomas. 

"I— I  did  n't  mean  anything,  Finnan  Haddie  !  " 
protested  Eleanor,  tearfully.  "I  — I  only  thought 
we  ought  to  do  our  gardens  ourselves.  But  —  " 

"The  meeting  will  please  come  to  order  !  "  Don- 
ald rapped  with  his  jack-knife  on  the  table. 

The  meeting  subsided. 

"Mr.  Chairman,"  said  Miss  Bronson,  rising  hastily, 
"I  move  that  Mr.  Trommel  be  elected  an  honorary 
member ;  he  can  then  advise  all  the  club." 


THE  HOKTICULTUKAL  CLUB         121 

'.'You  second  it,  Eleanor,"  said  Buddy,  in  a  loud 
whisper,  with  a  brotherly  dig  of  his  elbow  into  little 
Eleanor's  fat  ribs. 

"Second  him  ! "  said  the  repentant  Eleanor. 

"The  motion  is  made  and  seconded,"  said  the 
chair,  "that  Mr.  Trommel  be  made  an  honorary 
member.  All  in  favor  say  aye." 

"Aye  ! "  chorused  the  club. 

"The  ayes  have  it,"  said  the  chairman,  gravely. 
"Mr.  Trommel  is  an  honorary  member." 

"What  else  shall  we  do  now,  Miss  Bronson?" 
asked  the  chair. 

"We  ought  to  have  a  name,  and  some  by-laws,  and 
decide  something  about  the  meetings  —  the  next 
meeting,  anyway.  How  would  it  do  to  go  around 
the  room  and  each  one  suggest  a  name  for  the 
club?" 

"Gardeners'  Club,"  said  Buddy  Thomas. 

"Horticultural  Society,"  said  Mildred ;  "that  's 
what  father  belongs  to." 

"What 's  that,  Mildred?"  asked  little  Eleanor. 

"Why,  it 's  — it 's  Kose  Shows,  and  sometimes  it 's 
pumpkins  and  flowers  —  and  everything  like  that." 

"It  sounds  nice  and  big,  anyway,"  said  Margaret. 
"Why  could  n't  we  be  that?  " 


122  MAEY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW   IT  GEEW 

"Horticultural  Club?"  asked  Miss  Bronson. 
"Why,  of  course  you  could." 

"Horticultural  Club,"  announced  the  chair  after 
each  member  had  given  an  opinion.  "All  in  favor — " 

"Aye  !"  shouted  the  meeting. 

"Now,  there  are  the  by-laws,"  began  the  chairman. 

"What  are  by-laws,  Donald?"  asked  Eleanor. 

"They  are  the  laws  you  have  to  mind,"  explained 
Mary,  without  giving  the  chair  a  chance  to  answer. 
"The  laws  you  go  by;  that's  why  they  call  them 
'by-laws.' " 

"You  might  appoint  a  committee  of  three  to  make 
the  by-laws,  Donald,"  suggested  Miss  Bronson. 

"Ma-ar-g'ret ! "  came  little  Harold's  voice  from 
below,  as  the  ladder  was  banged  by  way  of  knocking 
(it  was  the  only  way  you  could  knock  at  the  door  of 
the  Bug  Association's  room). 

Margaret  rose  instantly  and  went  to  the  ladder. 
"Harold  Dickson,"  she  called,  without  opening  the 
trap-door,  "you  can't  come  up  here ;  you  just  go 
play!" 

"Never  mind  !  You  '11  be  sorry  if  you  don't  let 
me  come  up,  and  everybody  '11  be  sorry.  You  don't 
know  what  I  've  got !  And  I  can  eat  them  all  my- 
self, so  there ! " 


THE   HORTICULTURAL   CLUB          123 

At  this  the  trap-door  opened  and  Margaret  hastily 
went  down  the  ladder.  "He  's  got  some  ginger 
cookies ! "  she  informed  the  waiting  and  interested 
Horticultural  Club.  "Can  I  let  him  come  up? " 

But  Buddy  Thomas  was  already  half-way  down  the 
ladder  to  aid  the  little  fellow's  progress. 

"I  did  get  up  here  anyway,  Margaret,"  he  said, 
sitting  on  the  bench  beside  the  members  of  the  club, 
dangling  his  fat  brown  legs  and  sociably  munching 
his  molasses  cooky. 

But  Margaret  paid  no  attention. 

"This  is  the  way  a  club  ought  to  end,"  said  Mary. 
"Business,  and  then  discussion,  and  then  refresh- 
ments." 


CHAPTER  XV 

SETTING   OUT   PRIVET   CUTTINGS 

[May] 

«  A  RE  N'T  they  fine?  "  said  Mary,  laying  her  "flat " 
^-^-  on  the  empty  sand  of  the  bench  beside  her 
square  of  privet  cuttings  and  looking  admiringly  at 
the  prosperous  young  shoots. 

"Very  fine,"  agreed  Herr  Trommel,  without  look- 
ing around. 

"Now  we  dig  away  the  sand,"  remarked  Mary,  dis- 
tinctly, for  Mr.  Trommel's  back  was  turned  on  the 
operation,  "and  we  begin  at  the  side  where  there 
is  n't  anything,  and  then  we  dig  underneath — so ! 
I'm  undermining  them,  Mr.  Trommel,"  she  explained. 
"The  roots  must  be  tangled  in  the  sand,  and  you 
know  that  when  you  're  having  your  hair  combed 
it  does  n't  hurt  so  much  if  people  will  only  begin  and 
comb  out  the  ends  first." 

124 


SETTING   OUT   PEIVET  CUTTINGS    125 

"I  had  forgotten,  Liebchen,  but  undoubtedly  it  is 
true,"  responded  he. 

"So  that  's  why  I  am  undermining  these,"  con- 
tinued Mary,  working  carefully  with  her  pointed 
stick,  "and  then  they  just  drop  out,  so,  without  being 
pulled.  And  then  we  lay  them  in  the  flat,  one  on  top 
of  another,  with  their  heads  against  the  one  end,  and 
the  roots  in  the  middle,  where  nothing  hits  them." 

"That  is  right,"  said  Mr.  Trommel,  glancing  over 
his  shoulder  as  he  sprayed  his  plants. 

"Plants  are  queer,  are  n't  they,  Mr.  Trommel?" 
observed  the  under-gardener.  "They  don't  mind 
having  their  heads  bumped  a  little ;  it  's  the  feet 
you  have  to  be  careful  of.  Now  mothers  are  always 
telling  you  not  to  get  your  feet  wet,  and  it  does  n't 
hurt  the  plants  a  bit.  Do  you  suppose  it 's  the  vege- 
tables we  have  inside  of  us  that  make  us  like  to  get 
our  feet  wet?" 

"I  have  never  thought  of  it,  Liebchen,  but  it  may 
be  true.  Young  children  are  also  fond  of  soil  as  well 
as  of  getting  wet.  That  may  also  be  the  vegetable 
in  us.  And  how  does  the  little  garden  now? " 

"It 's  growing,"  she  replied.  "You  ought  to  see 
how  big  the  poppies  are !  And  the  sweet  peas  are 
growing,  too.  I  've  filled  in  the  trench,  and  the 


126    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

corn-flowers  and  mignonette  and  the  phlox— every- 
thing is  growing  as  fast  as  it  can." 

"And  have  you  thinned  them?" 

"Of  course  I  've  thinned  them,"  said  Mary,  proudly, 
"and  I  gave  Haddie  some  of  the  thinnings." 

"That  is  good." 

"And  I  thinned  the  lettuce  in  father's  garden 
yesterday,  and  he  gave  me  ten  cents  for  doing  it.  I 
think  father  does  n't  like  gardening.  He  says  he 
does  n't  want  to  hurt  the  business  of  the  market- 
gardeners.  But  the  radishes  came  up  all  right,  and 
the  peas  are  growing.  They  look  just  like  my  sweet 
peas." 

"It  is  the  family  resemblance,"  said  Herr  Trom- 
mel ;  "but  the  peas  in  the  Herr  Papa's  garden  have  to 
earn  their  living,  while  those  you  have  are  the  fine 
ladies  with  the  pretty  clothes. 

"It  will  soon  be  warm  enough  now  to  set  out  seed- 
lings. Every  day  the  last  week  that  was  fine  weather 
I  have  put  them  outside.  I  give  the  babies  an 
airing.  You  should  set  the  boxes  outdoors  for  a  few 
days,  then  the  little  asters  and  hollyhocks  can  see 
how  they  like  it  there.  It  makes  the  change  easier 
for  them.  The  first  night  you  better  set  the  boxes  in- 
side the  little  arbor.  That  will  be  a  shelter  for  them." 


SETTING   OUT  PEIVET   CUTTINGS     127 

"The  seedlings  in  the  boxes  are  a  lot  of  bother, 
are  n't  they,  Mr.  Trommel  ?  "  said  the  under-gar- 
dener,  with  a  sigh. 

"I  think  so.  I  rather  have  the  perennials  in  my 
garden — the  things  you'  plant  the  year  before.  They 
will  bloom  for  you  year  after  year,  as  the  shrubs  do." 

"Now  my  privets  are  all  ready ! "  said  Mary,  as 
the  last  cutting  was  laid  in  the  flat. 

"Have  you  the  little  fellows  all  laid  straight?" 

"Look  ! "  said  Mary,  proudly,  lifting  the  wooden 
flat  and  showing  the  cuttings  piled  as  regularly  as 
if  they  had  been  asparagus  stalks  for  the  market. 
"I  did  n't  sqush  them,  and  I  did  n't  break  one 
root." 

"Prachtvoll  /"  said  Mr.  Trommel.  "Now  run  and 
plant  them,  Liebchen.  I  have  other  things  to  do,  and 
you  are  so  fine  a  gardener  you  do  not  need  that 
Trommel  show  you  how.  Are  you  not  now  of  the 
Horticultural  Club?" 

"Mary!"  called  the  neighbor  from  over  the  fence, 
as  the  wheelbarrow  with  its  load  of  baby  privets  was 
pushed  carefully  through  the  garden  gate. 

"Good  afternoon,"  she  responded,  scarcely  look- 
yig  up,  for  the  red  wheelbarrow  had  a  very  precious 


128    MAKY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GKEW 


freight  j  the  flat  was  piled  high,  and  the  little  cut- 
tings might  tumble. 

"My    seeds   are    all   planted,  and   the   beds  are 
.xr  marked,too !  "said 

the  neighbor  with 
evident  pride. 
"Come  over  and 
see  them.  Can't 
you?" 

"By  and  by," 
answered  the 
under  -  gardener, 
with  a  slight  air 
of  importance, 
"but  I  can't  leave 
these  cuttings 
now." 

"What  are  you 
doing?" 
0  "Would  you  like 

DIAGRAM  OF  GARDEN  to  come   Qver  and 

help,  Finnan  Haddie?    You  can  if  you  like,"  she 
said  generously. 

"I  'm  going  to  make  an  edging  of  these,"  ex- 
plained Mary,  judicially,  when  her  neighbor  had 


ARBOR. 


SETTING  OUT  PRIVET   CUTTINGS    129 

climbed  the  fence.  "Box  is  what  you  ought  to 
have,,  but  I  could  n't  get  that,  so  Mr.  Trommel 
showed  me  how  to  make  these.  He  says  it  will  do 
this  summer,  but  that  next  year  it  will  be  a  hedge 
and  not  a  border." 

"They  are  cunning  little  things,"  said  her  fellow- 
gardener,  admiringly,  holding  up  one  of  the  "green- 
leaved  babies." 

"Don't  touch  the  roots,  Randolph  Finnan  Haddie," 
warned  the  under-gardener,  quickly.  "They  don't 
mind  having  their  heads  mussed  a  little,  but  we 
have  to  be  very  careful  about  the  feet." 

Mary's  small  brown  fingers  busied  themselves  a 
moment  with  the  piled-up  cuttings.  "There  !"  she 
said,  holding  a  thick  bunch  of  the  little  privets  be- 
tween her  hands.  "Now  dig  a  hole  for  me,  please, 
Haddie,  over  there,"— and  she  nodded  toward  an 
unoccupied  bit  of  flower-bed,— "big  enough  for  these 
bunched  up  so." 

The  boy  did  as  he  was  bid. 

"Now  we  put  them  in,  so,  and  cover  the  earth 
over  the  roots,  and  then  they  will  be  quite  comfor- 
table while  we  plant  the  others." 

"What  do  you  do  that  for?" 

"We  don't  have  to,  but  the  roots  like  to  be  in  the 

9 


130    MAEY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

ground,  just  as  flowers  like  to  be  put  in  water.  I  saw 
Mr.  Trommel  do  this  once,"  she  said  conclusively. 
"It's  'heeling  in.'" 

"Are  you  all  ready  to  put  the  others  in?"  asked 
the  assistant. 

Mary  nodded.  "Don't  you  see  my  trench?  The 
marking-string  's  there,  too.  Mr.  Trommel  said  to 
leave  the  string  until  I 
had  theedging  planted." 
"I'll  hold  the  plants," 
suggested  Randolph 
Findlayson,  "and  you 
push  the  dirt  around  the  roots.  It 's  easy  to  get  them 
straight  with  the  string  there.  I  've  got  him  right 
against  the  string,  Mary." 

"And  he  must  be  in  just  as  deep  as  he  was  before," 
said  Mr.  Trommel's  under-gardener,  in  her  most  pro- 
fessional manner,  "or  it  interferes  with  his  breathing 
—that 's  what  Mr.  Trommel  says.  But  you  know," 
she  confided  to  her  assistant  as  she  covered  the  roots 
of  the  little  privet  plant,  pushing  and  poking  the 
earth  with  small  brown  fingers,  "when  we  first  made 
the  cuttings,  I  put  one  of  them  in  the  sand  upside 
down,  and  it  grew  !  And  when  I  asked  Mr.  Trommel 
how  it  could  breathe  that  way,  he  said  privet  was 


SETTING   OUT   PRIVET   CUTTINGS     131 

like  some  babies  :  that  it  would  grow,  no  matter  how 
—no  matter  how  ignorant  its  parents  were. 

"Gardening  is  very  peculiar,"  she  said,  as  she  took 
the  watering-pot  and  began  to  soak  the  new  arrivals  ; 
"just  after  you  learn  things,  you  have  to  learn  how 
many  times  they  are  n't  so." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

ME.   TROMMEL  VISITS  THE   GARDENS 

[May] 

T^HE  Horticultural  Club  had  assembled  at  the 
house  of  its  honorary  member,  or,  to  speak  more 
strictly,  was  hanging  over  his  fence. 

"You  go  ask  him,  Mary,"  urged  Vincent  Thomas. 
"Maybe  he  's  forgotten  he  was  going  to  see  our 
gardens  to-day." 

"Go  on,  Mary,"  begged  Mildred,  adding  her  per- 
suasion. 

The  under-gardener,  nothing  loath,  pushed  open 
the  gate,  went  up  the  narrow  box-bordered  path  to 
the  greenhouse,  and  the  Horticultural  Club  watched 
from  the  fence  until  their  president  disappeared  be- 
hind the  low  white  door. 

Sure  enough,  there,  at  the  end  of  the  house,  was 
Herr  Trommel,  his  sleeves  rolled  up,  busily  unpack  - 
132 


MR.   TROMMEL   VISITS   THE    GARDENS     133 

ing  a  box  of  plants  and  quite  oblivious  to  his  en- 
gagement with  the  Horticultural  Club.  He  looked 
up  from  his  work  as  the  door  opened. 

"Good  morning,  good  morning,"  he  said,  although 
it  was  afternoon. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Trommel !  "  said  Mary,  fixing  reproachful 
brown  eyes  on  the  old  man's  face,  "are  n't  you  com- 
ing to  see  our  gardens  to-day?" 

Herr  Trommel  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  in  mild 
surprise.  "Lieber  Himmel ! "  he  exclaimed,  suddenly 
laying  down  the  plant  he  held,  "I  was  to  look  at  the 
little  gardens,  and  here  I  was,  even  being  so  happy 
with  my  new  shrubs."  He  sighed  deeply.  "But  wait 
a  moment,  Liebchen,  until  I  make  these  dear  things 
comfortable,  and  I  will  come  with  you.  I  must  put 
back  the  wet  hay  over  their  roots,  so— and  tuck  their 
feet  in,  so  they  shall  not  get  dry.  They  will  be  safe 
now  until  I  come  back  "  ;  and  he  followed  Mary  re- 
luctantly down  the  greenhouse. 

"What  place  must  we  visit  first?"  he  asked,  tak- 
ing his  hat  from  the  peg  beside  the  door. 

"I  suppose  we  '11  have  to  move  and  second  and  all 
that !  "  replied  Mary,  resignedly  ;  "the  club  's  here, 
you  know." 

"What ! "  he  exclaimed  in  surprise,  as  he  opened 


134    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

the  greenhouse  door  and  caught  sight  of  his  fence. 
But  he  recovered  himself  directly.  "Ha  !  good  after- 
noon, my  young  friends  !  I  am  most  happy  to  make 
acquaintance  with  the— the  Juvenile  Bug,  of  which 
you  have  made  Peter  Trommel  a  member  !  It  is  an 
honor !  Yes." 

The  Horticultural  Club  looked  pleased. 

"Now  let 's  go  to  Margaret's,"  said  the  energetic 
president ;  "that 's  the  nearest ! " 

"Stop  ! "  said  Mr.  Trommel.  "Wait  but  a  moment, 
little  one  !  I  must  have  straight  your  Juvenile  Bug 
Society." 

"It  is  n't  Juvenile  Bug,  Mr.  Trommel,"  corrected 
Mary  ;  "we're  the  Brookside  Horticultural  Club  now." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Trommel,  nodding  impatiently  ; 
"if  you  are  a  horticultural  society  it  will  not  be  long 
before  you  have  to  do  with  the  juvenile  insects. 
Which  one  is  this  ?  "  and  he  fixed  inquiring  spectacles 
on  Buddy  Thomas,  who  grew  suddenly  abashed. 

"That's  Buddy— Vincent  Thomas,  that  is;  and 
that 's  Eleanor  standing  by  the  fence,"  said  Mary, 
turning  to  Buddy's  sister,  who  in  her  turn  was  em- 
barrassed by  Mr.  Trommel's  scrutiny,  and  thrust  first 
one  then  the  other  small  brown  shoe  between  the 
pickets  of  the  fence. 


ME.   TROMMEL  VISITS   THE   GARDENS     135 

•'Yes,  yes;  Wingate  Thomas's  twins.  Go  on;  I 
have  them.  And  that!"  he  continued  his  inquiry. 

"That's  Mildred— and  Donald,"  she  went  on,  rap- 
idly introducing  the  club,  "and  Margaret  and  Haddie 
and  I.  Now  you  know  us  all." 

Herr  Trommel  scrutinized  the  club  attentively. 

"Yes,  now  I  have  them ;  let  us  go.  Shall  it  be 
your  garden  first,  my  child?"  he  asked,  turning 
to  Margaret. 

And  the  Horticultural  Club  and  its  honorary  mem- 
ber started  down  the  walk— Margaret  beside  Herr 
Trommel,  Eleanor  on  his  other  hand  ;  for  Mary,  care- 
ful on  this  occasion  to  avoid  an  air  of  proprietorship, 
was  following  with  Finnan  Haddie  ;  the  others  went 
on  ahead. 

"It  is  not  often,"  observed  Mr.  Trommel,  becom- 
ing affable  and  beaming  on  the  Horticultural  Club, 
"that  I  have  walked  with  such  fine  accompaniment." 

"I  planted  some  beets,"  remarked  Buddy  Thomas, 
turning  to  speak  to  the  honorary  member,  and  walk- 
ing backward  that  he  might  not  delay  the  proces- 
sion, "but  they  have  n't  come  up.  What  do  you  sup- 
pose is  the  matter  ?  " 

"That  I  cannot  tell,  my  lad,  until  I  see  what  you 
have  done  to  them," 


136     MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

"And  I  transplanted  some  jack-in-the-pulpits  and 
they  all  died,"  put  in  Eleanor,  looking  up  at  Mr. 
Trommel  as  she  trotted  along  beside  him.  "What 
made  them  f  " 

"I  've  got  lettuce  and  radishes  and  corn  and  chrys- 
anthemums in  my  garden,"  said  Margaret,  eagerly. 
"What  can  I  do  to  make  them  come  up  very  quick  f  " 

"I've  got  all  those  things  in  mine,  and  pumpkins 
besides  to  make  Jack-o'-lanterns  of.  How  soon  will 
they  be  big  enough  ?  "  broke  in  Donald,  for  the  Hor- 
ticultural was  rapidly  recovering  from  its  momen- 
tary shyness. 

"Ach!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Trommel,  "I  cannot  an- 
swer so  many  questions  at  once.  Wait  and  let  us 
see  the  little  gardens  one  at  a  time,  and  then  we  can 
perhaps  find  what  is  wrong  with  them. 

"Um-m-m,"  he  said  reflectively,  as  the  club  ranged 
itself  around  the  square  patch  near  the  vegetable- 
garden  which  confined  Margaret's  horticultural  efforts. 
"You  are  too  crowded  here.  The  lettuce,  the  little 
mignonettes  and  sweet  peas  all  should  be  made  thinner. 
Also  the  ground  is  hard ;  it  is  not  worked  enough. 
You  should  rake  and  hoe  twice  a  week  surely,  and 
keep  the  ground  light  and  loose  about  the  plants. 
Have  you  anything  else  ? " 


ME.   TROMMEL   VISITS   THE   GARDENS     137 

"Corn,"  answered  the  owner  ;  "but  it  did  n't  come 
up.  What  do  you  s'pose  was  the  matter  ?  " 

"When  did  you  plant  it? "  demanded  the  honorary 
member. 

"Oh,  ever  so  long  ago." 

"Then  it  was  too  early.  Corn  will  not  grow  until 
the  weather  is  hot.  It  likes  to  start  as  soon  as  the 
little  kernels  are  in  the  ground.  If  we  put  it  in  very 
early  and  they  have  to  wait  long,  they  often  become 
rotted.  This  year  also  we  have  had  much  wet.  The 
middle  of  May  is  quite  soon  enough  for  here.  If  you 
lived  South  you  could  plant  much  earlier.  Here  you 
might  plant  even  in  June  or  July  for  late  ripening. 
You  must  plant  again. 

"But  the  garden  needs  exercise — yes.  Also  per- 
spiration from  the  owner.  Still  it  might  be  a  good 
little  garden.  Now  let  us  see  another." 

"I  'm  next,"  said  Eleanor. 

"There  is  n't  very  much  in  my  garden,"  she  con- 
fided to  the  honorary  member,  as  she  trotted  along 
beside  him.  The  other  Horticulturals  had  gone  on 
before. 

"That  is  not  to  your  discredit,  my  child.  A  little 
garden  well  kept  is  better  than  a  large  one  that  is 
not  kept  at  all." 


138     MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GKEW 


"This  is  mine,"  said  Eleanor,  leading  the  way  to 
the  foot  of  the  yard.  "That 's  Buddy's  over  there. 
There  's  just  nasturtiums  in  mine." 

"That  iswell,"  said  Herr  Trommel,  affably.  "Then 
you  shall  be  the  specialist.  You  make  the  specialty 
of  nasturtiums." 

Eleanor  looked  pleased  and  smiled  at  the  Horticul- 
tural Club.  "I'm  going  to  have  pansy  plants  by  and  by." 
"The  soil  is  not  rich ;  it  is  a  little  sandy.     That 
will  not  hurt  the  nasturtiums,  but  the  pansies  would 
like  more  to  eat.   Sunflowers, 
yes,  and  mignonette  do  not 
mind  eating  little  ;     portu- 
laca  also  would  enjoy  itself 
here." 

"I  asked  father  to  buy 
some  manure  for  the  gar- 
dens— Eleanor's  and  mine," 
said  Buddy  ;  "but  he  said  the 
gardens  would  n't  amount  to 
anything  and  it  was  just 
a  waste  of  money.  You 
see,"  added  Buddy,  ruefully, 
"we  've  had  a  garden  before." 

"Then  this  summer  you  must  show  the  Herr  Papa 


MR.   TROMMEL  VISITS   THE   GARDENS     139 

what  a  fine  gardener  you  can  be  with  but  little  help, 
and  then  next  year  he  will  wish  to  establish  you  in 
the  business. 

"I  tell  you,  mine  young  horticulturists,  the  plants 
will  do  more  for  some  one  who  loves  them  much 
and  works  for  them,  but  yet  has  little  to  give 
them  in  the  way  of  extra  delicacies,  than  they  will 
do  for  one  who  gives  them  all  the  food  they  require 
and  then  leaves  them  alone  and  does  not  care.  You 
know,  the  iris  loves  the  water  and  the  wet  places- 
yes.  Well,  I  have  never  seen  iris  of  more  beautiful 
color  than  some  which  grew  on  top  of  a  hill.  They 
had  a  hard  bed  that  was  but  gravel  with  a  thin 
blanket  of  earth  over  it.  There  was  little  water  for 
them ;  but  the  gardener  cultivated  and  cultivated 
and  cultivated  them,"  he  said,  with  emphasis.  "I  have 
seen  larger  iris  many  times ;  but  a  more  beautiful 
color  f  No  !  So  much  can  be  done  with  perspiration. 

"It  has  been  a  great  pleasure,  mine  young  friends," 
said  Mr.  Trommel,  beaming  down  on  them,  as  they 
left  the  little  gardens  and  went  together  toward  the 
gate. 

"Oh,  but  you  have  n't  seen  all  the  gardens  yet, 
Mr.  Trommel !  There  's  Donald's  and  Mildred's 
and-" 


140  MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

"Have  I  not  seen  three?  Did  you  not  say  three!" 

"There  were  only  three  places  to  go  to  that  you 
did  n't  know,"  explained  Mary.  "Margaret's  is  one, 
and  Buddy's  and  Eleanor's  is  two,  and  now  we  are 
going  to  see  Mildred's  and  Donald's ;  that  's  three. 
Mine  and  Haddie's  you  know,  so  they  don't  count." 

"I  comprehend.  It  was  the— the  arithmetic  that 
confused  me.  I  did  not  multiply  correctly." 

The  Horticultural  Club  went  two  by  two  along  the 
path  under  the  tall  trees,  which  shaded  but  slightly. 
The  maple  blossoms  were  strewn  on  the  broad  flagged 
walk,  leaving  the  winged  seeds  high  up  in  the  tree 
behind  them. 

Mary  brought  up  the  rear  with  Mr.  Trommel. 
"You  have  n't  seen  Mildred's  garden,"  she  said  to 
her  companion  ;  "  it 's  very — very  interesting." 

"I  doubt  not  it  is  a  fine  little  garden,  and  Judge 
Patterson's  is  very  near.  There  is  always  much  for 
which  one  may  be  thankful,  Liebchen."  He  fetched  a 
deep  sigh.  "  It  is  good  to  have  pleasures  near,"  he 
added  hastily. 

"Not  so  bad,"  said  Herr  Trommel,  surveying 
Donald's  little  garden,  "but  I  do  not  like  the  beds 
built  up,  made  higher  than  the  paths  ;  the  water  runs 
off,  and  also  it  is  apt  to  wash  the  plants  away  that 


MR.  TKOMMEL   VISITS   THE   GAKDENS     141 

are  near  the  edge.  I  do  not  like  it.  You  will  have 
some  fine  poppies." 

"Ought  n't  I  to  transplant  them?"  asked  Donald. 

"Transplant  poppies!"  said  Mr.  Trommel,  in  a 
shocked  voice.  "Transplant  poppies  !  You  can  trans- 
plant pansies,  if  you  will.  They  do  not  mind  ;  indeed, 
they  rather  like  it,  as  these  foolish  people  who  will 
go  to  one  place  for  a  little  while  in  the  summer, 
and  then  to  another.  But  poppies— no,  no  !  We  are 
but  coarse,  big  things,  and  the  poppies  hate  that  we 
touch  them.  Now,  is  there  yet  another  garden?" 

"You  have  n't  seen  mine  yet,  Mr.  Trommel,"  Mil- 
dred said. 

They  went  around  to  the  other  side  of  the  house, 
past  spiraea  that  was  white  with  bloom,  to  a  large 
horse-chestnut-tree,  its  trunk  encircled  by  a  low  seat. 

Herr  Trommel  sat  down  on  the  seat,  took  oif  his 
hat,  drew  from  his  breast-pocket  a  large  handker- 
chief, and  wiped  his  forehead. 

"It  is  a  fine  little  garden,"  he  said. 

"It  is  over  by  the  fence,  Mr.  Trommel,"  objected 
Mildred. 

"Yes,  yes ;  tell  me  what  you  have  in  it,  and  I  can 
see  better  from  here.  I  see  lilies-of-the-valley." 

"Those  aren't   mine.     See   here,  and   here,  and 


142     MARY'S   GARDEN   AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

here,"  she  said,  pointing  with  her  foot  in  the  grass, 
quite  near  where  Mr.  Trommel  sat  breathing  peace- 
fully. 

"They  are  violets,"  said  Herr  Trommel.  "Did 
you  plant  them  ?  " 

"I  brought  them  home  from  the  woods." 

"They  are  growing  nicely.  Ha  !  you  have  several 
kinds,"  he  said,  growing  interested. 

Mildred  nodded.  "I  think  that's  the  Canadian 
violet,"  she  said.  "It  has  n't  bloomed  yet.  And  I  've 
some  of  those  long-stemmed  ones  that  are  colored 
almost  like  pansies." 

"And  jack-in-the-pulpit !  Did  you  bring  him  in, 
too?" 

"Yes;  and  I  have  some  anemones,  but  they've 
gone  by — and  trillium." 

"And  the  ferns  1    One,  two,  three,  four  kinds  I  see." 

"Yes." 

"The  little  garden  does  you  credit.  My  child," 
said  Herr  Trommel,  "you  can  transplant  well ;  it  is 
a  fine  accomplishment." 

"What  else  could  I  plant  in  it,  Mr.  Trommel?  " 

"I  would  keep  to  the  wild  things,  and  bring  them 
home  yourself.  I  think  it  is  better  to  plant  them 
and  let  them  live  than  to  kill  them  and  dry  them  and 


ME.   TROMMEL  VISITS  THE  GARDENS    143 

mount  them  most  beautifully.  That  is,  I  think  so. 
I  think  the  flowers  like  it  better,  also. 

"You  might  have  the  Japanese  anemone.  It  would 
quarrel  with  nothing  here.  Pansies  also  would  grow 
for  you,  but  they  would  not  be  happy  with  the 
wild  things.  The  myrtle— the  little  Vinca  minor 
with  the  blue  flowers — would  be  better." 

"Mildred  ought  to  put  manure  on,  ought  n't  she, 
Mr.  Trommel?"  said  Mary,  in  her  professional 
manner. 

"No,  no  ! "  Mr.  Trommel  spoke  quickly.  "A  little 
garden  like  this  better  have  leaf-mold  from  the 
woods  ;  that  the  wild  things  understand." 

"What  is  leaf-mold?"  inquired  Buddy  Thomas. 

"It  is— leaf-mold,"  answered  Herr  Trommel,  im- 
patiently. "It  is  when  the  leaves  drop  to  the  ground 
and  are  dead  and  soaked  with  rain.  Another  year— 
what  they  are  become  then — that  is  leaf-mold. 
Now,  mine  young  horticulturists,  I  must  go  home. 
It  grows  late  ;  also  I  have  other  things  to  do.  You 
say  I  need  not  to-day  inspect  your  garden  and  the 
lad's  next  to  you  t "  and  he  turned  appealingly  to  Mary. 

"Oh,  no,"  said  the  president.  "You  know  you  've 
seen  those  ;  but  if  you  'd  like,  Mr.  Trommel,  Haddie 
and  I  would  n't  mind  being  inspected." 


144    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

"No,  no ;  I  shall  not  trouble  you/'  he  said  posi- 
tively. "I  have  had  a  very  instructive  afternoon 
and  a  very  pleasant.  Yes  !  " 

"We  '11  all  go  home  with  you,  Mr.  Trommel,"  said 
Eleanor. 

"These  two,"  indicating  Mary  and  Randolph  Find- 
layson,  "they  should  be  accompaniment  enough." 

"Oh,  we  'd  like  to  go,"  assured  little  Eleanor. 

"Well,  well,"  assented  Mr.  Trommel,  "  you  have 
two  very  fine  things  in  your  society— the  zeal  and 
the  devotion.  Yes!" 


«T'M 

J-  mf 


CHAPTEK   XVII 

SETTING  OUT  SEEDLINGS 
[May,  last  week] 

not  going  to  ask  you  to  help  me,  Mr.  Trom- 
mel, because  I  belong  to  the  Horticultural  Club 
now  j  but  I  'm  going  to  set  out  my  seedlings,  and  if 
you  would  like  to  come  over  and  sit  in  my  arbor, 
I  >d-I  'd  feel  a  little  safer.  Are  n't  you  tired!" 
added  the  under-gardener,  solicitously. 

Herr  Trommel  was  busily  at  work  with  shears  in 
one  of  his  borders.  He  was  clipping  the  lower 
leaves  from  hollyhocks  that  were  beginning  to  shade 
some  little  seedlings,  but  he  straightened  himself 
and  laughed. 

"You  think  the  little  asters  feel  better  if  I  —  what 
you  call  it—  chaperon  a  little?" 

"Yes,  that 's  it,"  said  Mary ;  "but  what  are  you 
doing  to  the  hollyhocks  t " 
10  145 


146    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

"I  am  not  hurting  them,  Liebchen.  I  just  cut  off 
a  few  of  these  great  leaves  at  the  bottom  j  I  do  not 
like  to  do  it,  but  they  shade  my  little  things  here  in 
front  of  them.  Besides,  it  will  not  show ;  they  will 
not  feel  bare  or  unclad." 

He  bent  again  to  his  work.  "In  five  —  ten  min- 
utes I  shall  come.  The  lady  mother  will  not  mind 
that  I  bring  my  pipe  ?  No  ?  It  is  good  for  a  garden 
to  have  a  pipe  smoked  in  it." 

"Everything  will  be  ready,"  declared  Mary,  "and 
then  you  '11  just— just  watch." 

"The  garden  looks  very  fine ! "  remarked  Mr. 
Trommel,  as  he  came  through  the  gate,  which  was 
none  too  wide  to  admit  him.  "The  larkspur  will 
bloom  for  you  soon  — just  one  or  two  spikes ;  next 
year  you  will  have  plenty.  The  young  ones  are 
growing  well." 

"See ! "  said  Mary,  showing  him  the  seed-bed  in 
the  corner.  "Look  at  the  little  larkspurs  and  holly- 
hocks— they  are  coming  up  ;  and  then  in  the  fall  we 
move  them  to  where  they  are  to  grow,  don't  we  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Herr  Trommel ;  then  he  stooped 
under  the  doorway  of  the  little  arbor. 

"Now,  Liebchen,  I  shall  sit  here  and  smoke  my 


SETTING  OUT  SEEDLINGS  147 

* 

pipe  and  admire  the  sweet  peas  and  the  poppies 
that  are  coming  on  so  finely.  You  have  a  good  day 
for  transplanting.  It  is  cloudy  and  somewhat 
damp.  The  little  plants  will  like  it.  You  shall  set 
them  out,  and  I  shall  not  look  until  they  are  all  in 
the  ground,  and  then  I  shall  come  and  admire.  That 
is  what  you  wish,  is  it  not?  " 

"Ye-es,"  assented  the  young  gardener,  doubtfully, 
as  she  sat  down  on  the  grass  at  the  edge  of  the  flower- 
bed beside  the  flat  of  young  asters. 

"It 's  easy  enough  after  the  first  plant 's  out,  but  it 
seems  quite  hard  to  take  the  first  plant  out  without 
hurting  anything,"  she  observed  after  a  moment's 
silence.  "A  trowel  's  too  big  to  put  in  the  box ; 
there  is  n't  any  tool  just— just  suitable." 

"There  is  a  flat  pot-label  in  my  pocket,"  remarked 
Herr  Trommel  to  the  sweet  peas  ;  "I  have  known  it 
to  be  convenient." 

"I  think  I  will  try  a  pot-label,  if  you  have  it  with 
you,"  said  Mary.  "Could  n't  you  poke  it  through 
the  lattice  ? " 

This  implement  seemed  to  be  successful,  and  there 
was  silence  for  a  few  minutes.  "You  make  the  hole 
deeper  than  the  roots  are  long,"  remarked  the 
under-gardener,  after  Mr.  Trommel's  fashion  ;  "that 


148    MAEY'S  GAKDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GKEW 

is  so  the  roots  will  not  have  to  double  up  their  feet. 
And —  and  then  you  put  the  earth  around  it  carefully, 
so  not  to  hurt  them.  And  then  you  press  it  down, 
and  the  little  aster  must  be  in  just  as  deep  as  he  was 
before,  or  a  very  little  deeper.  Now  I  'm  going  to 
make  another  hole  about  —  about  four  inches — " 

There  was  a  cough  from  Mr.  Trommel  which  in- 
terrupted the  soliloquy.  "Perhaps  six  inches  would 
be  better,"  amended  she ;  "it  is  better  to  give  too 
much  room  than  too  little." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Trommel,  do  look  and  see  if  these  are  all 
right ;  you  must  n't  tell  me  how,  but  just  look  ! " 

"The  little  plants  are  set  out  well,"  said  Herr 
Trommel.  "They  are  straight,  they  are  well  apart. 
Now,  if  you  but  wet  them  thoroughly  they  will  be 
quite  happy." 


I 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

MARY  IN  MR.   TROMMEL'S  GARDEN 
[June] 

JUST  love  your  garden,  Mr.  Trommel ! "  declared 
Mary,  enthusiastically,  her  brown  head  bent  over 
the  dainty  columbines.  "I  think  it 's  nicer  than  any- 
body else's  garden.  Somehow  the  flowers  seem  more 
friendly  here,  as  if  they  liked  to  have  you  come  and 
see  them." 

"Perhaps  they  know  we  love  them,  little  one.  See 
those  tulips  and  narcissi  there  at  the  edge  of  the  bor- 
der, by  the  shrubs  ?  They  were  done  blooming  long 
ago,  but  this  is  their  home.  They  know  I  will  not 
disturb  them  nor  trouble  them,  or  put  others  in  their 
place.  They  know  I  love  them  all  the  year  round, 
even  when  they  are  curled  up  in  the  brown  bulb, 
sound  asleep." 

"The  columbines  are  n't  asleep.  Just  see  how  they 
149 


150     MAEY'S  GAEDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GEEW 

are  dancing.  But  they  will  have  to  go  away  soon. 
They  are  beginning  to  fade  now.  Perhaps  that  is 
why  they  are  dancing  so  hard— like  Cinderella  jus*t 
before  the  clock  struck  twelve."  She  passed  down 
the  path  and  stopped  by  the  larkspurs.  "He  's  splen- 
did, is  n't  he  ?  "  said  she,  pointing  to  the  big  spike 
which  reached  almost  past  her  shoulder,  "and  the 
only  one  out.  I  know  what  he  says,  Mr.  Trommel." 

"Yes?     And  what  does  he  say,  Liebchen  f  " 

"He  says,  'Oh,  come  on,  you  slow-pokes!  Look 
at  me  !  I  'm  out.  And  it 's  beautiful,  beautiful !  I 
can  see  all  over  the  garden.  You  '11  miss  the  little 
columbines  if  you  wait  any  longer  ! '  That 's  what 
he  says,"  she  ended,  with  a  little  laugh.  "Now  I  'm 
going  to  see  how  big  your  sweet  peas  are,  Mr.  Trom- 
mel. Mine  are  almost  up  to  the  bottom  of  my  dress." 

The  old  man  watched  affectionately  the  little  gar- 
dener's figure  as  it  passed  between  the  two  old  apple- 
trees  to  the  open  space  at  the  foot  of  the  yard ;  then 
he  left  staking  his  pyrethrums  and  followed. 

"They  look  beautiful,"  she  said,  turning  to  face 
him  as  he  stood  beside  her.  "They  are  'most  as  big 
as  mine.  Won't  they  blossom  soon?" 

"Let  us  see,"  said  Herr  Trommel,  reflectively,  tak- 
ing off  his  cap  and  passing  his  hand  thoughtfully  over 


MARY   IN   ME.  TROMMEL'S   GARDEN     151 


his  bald  spot.     "This  is  now  the  6th.     They  should 
begin  to  bloom,  perhaps,  the  end  of  the  month. 

"The  roses,"  he  mused,  "ah,  they  are  the  loveliest,  I 
know,  but  sometimes  I  think  the  sweet  peas  are  the 
dearest.  Already  you  see  how  the 
fine  little  tendrils  hold  the  wire. 
At  the  end  of  the  month  they  will 
be  holding  tight,  tighter  than 
ever,  for  the  blossoms  have  then 
their  wings.  So  the  pea-vine 
holds  tight  with  the  little  green 
fingers  when  the  bees  come  and 
talk  to  the  pretty  flowers  and  tell 
them  how  nice  it  is  to  go  visiting. 
I  think  she  is  afraid  the  pretty 
children  will  fly  off." 

The  under-gardener  was  listen- 
ing intently.     "Did  you  ever  see  a  sweet  pea  run 
off  with  a  bee,  Mr.  Trommel?" 

"No,"  he  admitted;  "but  you  know  my  eyes  are 
old.  Besides,  I  have  spectacles  in  front  of  them. 
When  you  come  to  wearing  spectacles,  lAebchen,  you 
sometimes  cannot  see  the  things  that  you  could  with- 
out." 

"Then  perhaps  if  I  watch,"  said  the  assistant,  with 


152    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

wide  brown  eyes  fixed  on  the  old  man's  face— "but 
I  think  a  sweet  pea  would  rather  fly  off  with  one  of 
those  little  white  butterflies  than  a  bee ;  they  look 
more  as  if  they  belonged  together— more  suitable." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Mr.  Trommel ;  "you  see  many  won- 
derful things  if  you  watch  for  them.  Shall  I  tell  you 
another  thing?" 

"Oh,  yes  ! "  said  the  under-gardener. 

"Well,  then,  look  out  for  the  bees.  They  are  not 
so  good  as  some  people  think  they  are.  I  have  caught 
them  stealing." 

"Stealing  ! "  echoed  his  listener,  in  an  awed  whisper. 

"Stealing  ! "  repeated  Herr  Trommel,  firmly. 

"Why,  I  thought  they  were  very  good,  and  worked 
very  hard,  and  were  very,  very  industrious." 

"The  bees— they  are  tramps,"  said  Herr  Trommel. 
"They  go  to  a  flower  for  honey,  and  the  flower  does 
as  all  good  people  do  with  a  tramp  :  it  says,  'Yes,  I 
will  give  you  something  to  eat,  but  you  must  work 
for  it.'  So  the  bee  has  his  honey.  Then  he  carries 
away  a  load  of  pollen- dust  for  the  flower,  and  takes 
it  for  her  to  another  flower — that  is,  when  the  bee 
does  as  he  should." 

"But  when  does  he  steal?"  asked  the  brown  eyes. 

"That  I  will  show  you.    Come  with  me  over  to  the 


HERE  is  A  BIG  FELLOW  COME  TO  STEAL.    WATCH  HIM  !' ' 


154  MAEY'S   GAEDEN   AND    HOW   IT   GEEW 

rhododendron  here,  and  you  shall  see  some  of  his 
badness.  Do  you  see  the  brown  spot  there  at  the 
base  of  the  flower,  on  the  outside,  just  where  the 
sweet  is  t " 

Mary  nodded. 

"Yes ;  that  is  where  the  bee  has  broken  in  and 
taken  his  breakfast  without  paying  for  it.  He  should 
have,  gone  in  at  the  front  door  instead  of  breaking 
into  the  pretty  house  like  that.  Ha  !  Here  is  a  big 
fellow  come  to  steal  now.  Watch  him  !  See,  he  does 
not  even  try  to  go  inside." 

Sure  enough,  the  bee  was  buzzing  contentedly  at 
the  base  of  the  flower  in  his  most  businesslike  man- 
ner. In  a  moment  he  went  singing  away,  leaving  a 
small  hole— the  mark  of  his  misdeeds— behind  him. 
k  "You  see,"  said  Herr  Trommel,  severely,  "if  he 
could  not  get  inside,  he  should  know  that  the  sweet 
was  not  for  him ;  the  flower  was  perhaps  saving  it 
for  some  pretty  moth.  What  he  could  not  get  in  the 
right  way  he  took  in  the  wrong  way.  No,  they  are 
not  so  good,  those  bees.  They  buzz,  buzz,  to  make 
you  think  they  are  working  very  hard ;  but  they 
are  gossips  and  matchmakers  and  busybodies,  and  it 
is  all  getting,  getting,  and  more  than  they  need.  I 
think  the  liebe  Gott  likes  the  flowers  just  as  well. 


MAKY   IN   MR.    TEOMMEL'S   GARDEN     155 

They  do  not  talk  about  what  they  are  doing.  They 
just  grow  and  are  lovely,  as  the  liebe  Gott  meant  they 
should  be. 

"Did  you  ever  see  a  bee  who  has  eaten  more  sweet 
than  is  good  for  him  ?  No  ?  I  have  seen  him  on  a 
thistle-top  when  he  has  made  himself  so  sick  he  could 
not  stand— yes!" 

"But  if  he  did  not  feel  well,  that  was  a  lovely  j>lace 
for  him  to  go  and  lie  down/'  said  the  under-gardener. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

TRANSACTIONS    OF    THE    HORTICULTURAL    CLUB 
[June] 

ONE  after  another,  the  members  of  the  Horticul- 
tural Club  climbed  the  ladder  and  came  through 
the  trap-door  to  the  room  of  the  Juvenile  Bug  Asso- 
ciation, for  it  was  almost  time  for  the  third  meeting 
of  the  club. 

"We  must  have  a  chairman,"  said  Margaret  Dick- 
son,  who  was  very  businesslike.  "You  have  to  nomi- 
nate some  one  and  then  second  him." 

"I  don't  like  that  way,  Margaret,"  objected  Mary. 
"All  that  seconding  and  moving  takes  lots  of  time— 
let 's  count  out !  You  can  count  out,  Eleanor." 

Thte  Horticultural  Club  obediently  ranged  them- 
selves in  a  circle.  Eleanor  began  at  once : 

"  'Eeny,  meeny,  miny,  mo. 
Catch  a  nigger  by  his  toe ; 
If  he  hollers,  let  him  go  ! 
Eeny,  meeny,  miny,  mo  ! ' 
156 


THE  HORTICULTURAL  CLUB          157 
You  're  out,  Buddy  ! 

'Eeny,  meeny,  miny,  mo—'  " 

she  began  again,  when  Buddy  had  withdrawn  from 
the  possibility  of  chairmanship. 

By  this  method  of  selection  the  honor  fell  to  Mar- 
garet. With  an  air  of  importance,  she  went  at  once 
to  the  seat  by  the  table,  and  pounded  with  vigor  to 
call  the  meeting  to  order. 

"There  are  three  papers  for  the  club  to  hear," 
she  announced.  "Mr.  Randolph  Hadley  will  read 
his  first." 

"It's  ladies  first,"  said  Randolph  Findlayson,  gal- 
lantly. 

"It 's  age  first,"  said  Eleanor,  wriggling  in  her  chair 
in  momentary  embarrassment. 

"Then  it's  Mildred,"  said  Donald  Patterson,  "be- 
cause she 's  age  and  ladies  both." 

"Be  quiet,  children!"  said  the  chair,  sternly. 
"The  chairman  is  like  the  teacher  when  you  play 
school,  and  I'm  Miss  Bronson.  Now,  Randolph," 
she  said  sweetly,  "we  are  ready  to  hear  your  paper." 

Finnan  Haddie  rose  at  once. 

And  the  club  listened  to  the  following  essay  : 


158     MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

"TOADS 

"A  toad  is  a  very  useful  animal  to  have  in  a  garden. 
A  toad  is  a  quadruped,  because  it  has  four  legs,  but 
it  sits  chiefly  on  its  hind  ones. 

"A  toad  is  a  familiar  object,  although  many  times 
you  do  not  see  him  when  he  is  there.  This  is  because 
he  looks  so  much  like  the  mud  or  the  ground  ^^ 
that  you  do  not  notice  him.  Toads  are  very  ^* 
useful  in  gardens,  because  they  catch  and  eat  insects 
which  are  difficult  for  us  to  catch.  They  also  do  not 
have  anything  else  to  do,  so  they  can  spend  all  their 
time  in  this  useful  occupation. 

"Toads  are  better  than  anything  else  for  catching 
slugs.  A  slug  is  like  a  snail  when  its  shell  has  been 
smashed  off.  Slugs  leave  a  trail 
of  wet  behind  them,  and  they 
eat  up  sweet  peas  and  every- 
thing else  in  the  garden  ;  but  the 
'toads  eat  them  up. 

"It  is  very  interesting  to  see  a 
toad  catch  flies.  He  sits  perfectly 
still,  as  if  he  were  a  stone  ;  then, 
when  he  sees  a  fly  or  an  insect, 
his  chest  puffs  in  and  out,  as  if  he  were  fanning  him- 
self inside.  Then  he  keeps  perfectly  still,  so  that  the 


THE   HORTICULTURAL   CLUB          159 

fly  will  think  he  is  a  chunk  of  mud,  but  when  it  is 
near  enough  he  snaps  it.  You  would  not  think  he 
could  make  such  a  quick  jump  for  it,  but  he  does. 
I  have  eight  toads  in  my  garden,  and  have  not  been 
bothered  much  yet  with  slugs.  People  say  that  toads 
make  warts  on  your  hands.  They  have  n't  made  any 
warts  yet  on  my  hands,  but  anyway  I  would  rather 
have  warts  on  my  hands  than  bugs  on  my  flowers." 

"I  think  toads  are  nasty  things,"  objected  Elea- 
nor. 

"Eleanor,"  said  Mary,  "that  is  only  a— a  prejudice. 
Toads  are  very  useful." 

"You  're  wrong  about  one  thing,  Finnan  Haddie," 
said  Buddy  Thomas.  "A  toad  does  n't  jump.  I  've 
watched  them  lots  of  times.  It  just  shoots  out  its 
tongue  so  quickly  that  you  can  scarcely  see  it,  and  it 
has  something  sweet  and  sticky  on  the  end  of  its 
tongue  that  catches  the  fly,  like  sticky  fly-paper. 
That 's  the  way  he  catches  them." 

"But  I  never  saw  any  slugs  !  "  objected  Eleanor. 

"Of  course  you  have  n't  seen  them,  unless  you 
were  up  very  early,"  replied  the  essayist.  "They 
come  out  at  night." 

"That 's  ' because  their  deeds  are  evil,' "  remarked 


160    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

the  under-gardener.  "But  I  've  seen  slugs  in  the 
daytime,  Finnan  Haddie.  Once  I  lifted  a  board,  and 
there  were  lots  of_them  under  it— wet,  nasty-looking 
things.  Mr.  Trommel  says  that  if  you  make  a  little 
circle  of  lime  around  the  plants,  a  little  way  from 
the  stem, — it  must  n't  touch  that, — the  slugs  can't 
cross  it." 

The  chairman  pounded  on  the  table.  "Children  ! " 
she  said  sternly,  "this  is  not  the  time  for  talking. 
Discussion  comes  afterward.  Eleanor  will  read  us 
her  paper.  Stand  over  here,  my  dear,  and  be  care- 
ful to  read  slowly." 

Eleanor  gave  two  or  three  little  giggles  of  embar- 
rassment, and  then  began : 

"THINNING    SEEDLINGS 

"Thinning  seedlings  is  a  process  which  seems  sad, 
but  it  is  necessary.  It  is  sad  because  so  many  of 
them  die.  They  most  often  die  when  they  are  the 
kinds  which  do  not  like  to  be  transplanted.  We  have 
to  thin  plants,  because  if  we  don't  do  it,  the  little 
plants  are  too  crowded,  and  then  none  of  them  are 
any  good.  Mr.  Trommel  says  they  get  to  quarreling 
for  their  bread  and  butter,  so  we  must  separate 
them. 


THE  HOKTICULTUKAL  CLUB          161 

"When  you  start  seeds  in  boxes  it  is  only  a  little 
while  before  your  trouble  begins.  As  soon  as  two  or 
three  leaves  have  formed  you  have  to  begin  to  thin 
them.  You  take  out  the  little  plants  in  between 
until  those  that  are  left  are  two  or  three  inches  apart. 
This  is  when  they  are  growing  in  the  house.  When 
they  are  growing  outdoors  you  do  likewise. 

"Then  you  think  you  are  done  thinning,  but  you 
are  not ;  you  have  to  do  it  again.  Pretty  soon  the 
leaves  are  near  each  other  and  the  little  plants  grow 
bigger.  Then  you  take  out  the  ones  between  until 
they  are  six  inches  from  each  other,  or,  if  they  are  in 
flats,  you  have  to  pot  them.  -You  can  plant  them 
out  of  doors  if  it  is  warm  enough. 

"A  nice  way  to  move  seedlings,  when  they  are  out 
of  doors,  is  to  take  a  tin  box.  The  kind  that  saltines 
come  in  is  very  nice  for  this.  Then  you  put  a  little 
water  in  it,  and  then,  just  as  fast  as  you  take  the 
seedlings  out,  you  put  them  in  the  box  with  the 
roots  down  and  the  heads  up.  Then  the  roots  don't 
get  dry  and  the  little  plants  are  moved  very  com- 
fortably. 

"You  must  take  hold  of  a  seedling  just  where  the 
roots  begin.  If  you  take  them  up  by  the  top,  some- 
times the  stem  breaks  and  then  it  becomes  dead." 


162    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

"That  was  a  very  instructive  paper,  Eleanor,"  re- 
marked the  president. 

"I  know  a  way  to  transplant  things  when  you 
have  n't  any  tin  box,  and  you  have  to  bring  them  a 
long  way,  too,"  said  Mildred.  "I  've  brought  home 
jack-in-the-pulpits  and  violets,  and  they  did  n't  die, 
either ! " 

"I  brought  home  some,  too,"  asserted  Margaret— 
"but  mine  died,"  she  added,  after  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion. 

"You  have  to  dig  them  up  carefully,  of  course," 
explained  Mildred,  "and  you  must  n't  pull.  If  you 
have  a  knife  along  it 's  easy.  I  always  have  a  knife 
and  a  piece  of  string  in  my  pocket. 

"Then  you  find  a  piece  of  moss  and  put  it  around 
the  roots,  and  then  soak  it." 

"The  dirt  inside?"  asked  Buddy. 

"Of  course,"  said  Mary.  "It 's  like  Hiawatha's 
mittens— he  put  the  skin  side  inside  and  put  the  fur 
side  outside.  The  mossy  side  is  the  fur  side." 

"And  then  you  tie  it.  If  you  can't  get  moss,  take 
mud  and  make  a  ball  with  the  roots  inside — " 

"I  know  that  way,"  said  Margaret.  "It  's  in  the 
'Girls'  Handy  Book.' " 

Mildred  took  no  notice  of  the  interruption. 


THE  HORTICULTURAL  CLUB         163 

"Then  you  put  them  in  your  hat  and  bring  them 
home." 

"Does  n't  your  hat  get  all  dirty?"  asked  Eleanor. 

"It  's  'most  always  an  old  hat,  but  you  can  put 
leaves  inside  if  you  're  afraid  j  and  if  you  cross  the 
elastic  and  put  it  underneath  the  crown,  it  holds 
lots ! " 

"It  's  time  for  the  meeting  to  go  home,"  said 
Margaret,  impatiently. 

"A  meeting  does  n't  go  home,"  said  Donald  j  "it 
adjourns.  Some  one  has  to  move — " 

"But  are  n't  there  any— any  refreshments?  "  asked 
Buddy  Thomas,  disconsolately.  "It  says  in  the  by- 
laws— " 

"We  have  beautiful  refreshments  to-day,"  an- 
nounced the  chairman. 

"Oh,  Margaret,  are  the  cherries  ripe?"  cried 
Donald. 

"Oh,  Ma-ar-g'ret,  why  did  n't  you  say  so  before? 
And  we  've  been  up  here  all  this  time  ! "  said  Eleanor, 
in  an  injured  tone. 

But  the  chairman  did  n't  hear,  for  the  Horticul- 
tural Club  was  going  down  the  ladder  as  fast  as 
possible. 


CHAPTER   XX 

THE  POPPIES 
[June] 

come  over  and  see  my  poppies,  Mr.  Trom- 
el!"  begged  the  under-gardener.  "There 
was  n't  one  bud  open  yesterday !  They  were  bent 
over,  hanging  their  heads  down.  And  this  morning 
there  are  one,  two,  three,  four  poppies— oh,  they  are 
lovely !  Pink,  with  a  little  white  edge,  and  red ; 
there  ?s  a  red  one  that  is— stunning!"  she  said  im- 
pressively. 

Herr  Trommel  was  on  his  hands  and  knees,  de- 
votedly weeding  his  border.  "Eh?"  he  said.  "The 
poppies  have  come  out?  Then  we  must  go  and  look 
at  the  pretty  ones."  He  stood  up. 

"But  I  knew  last  evening  there  would  be  a  sur- 
prise for  you  to-day,"  he  said  as  they  walked  along 
the  path  to  the  gate. 

164 


THE    POPPIES  165 

"How  did  you  know?"  asked  Mary,  surprised. 

"Urn— well,  the  poppy  buds  looked  as  if  they  were 
thinking  of  coming  out ;  the  little  heads  were  begin- 
ning to  straighten  upright.  The  poppy  does  not 
hang  her  head  when  she  blossoms.  No,  no  ! " 

"There  !  "  exclaimed  Mary,  as  they  stood  in  front  of 
the  dainty  poppies  that  were  swaying  on  slender  stems. 

Herr  Trommel  looked  down  on  them  in  silence  for 
a  moment.  "They  are  lovely,"  he  said  reverently ; 
"they  are  fairy  things  ;  they  are  color  made  alive  ! " 

"Were  the  petals  all  inside  of  those  green  buds? " 
asked  the  under-gardener. 

Herr  Trommel  nodded.  "The  poppy  is  not  at  all 
careful  of  her  clothes,  although  she  has  such  pretty 
ones.  The  roses  curl  their  petals  very  carefully,  but 
the  poppy's  petals  are  just  crushed  tight  together 
inside  the  hard  green  bud.  She  is  not  afraid  of 
wrinkles— no.  If  you  are  out  very  early,  Liebchen, 
you  might  see  the  poppy  open  ;  but  you  must  have 
the  sharp  eyes.  You  see  the  bud ;  then,  if  you  look 
away  but  a  moment,  there  is  the  flower  !  The  green 
case  — the  calyx  — has  split  and  dropped  to  the 
ground,  and  the  petals  that  were  crushed  so  tight  are 
lovely,  as  you  see  them  now.  It  is  a  wonderful 
thing." 


166    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

"Poppies  don't  look  a  bit  sleepy,  do  they*  But 
is  n't  there  something  in  them  that  makes  people 
sleep?  It  seems  to  me—"  said  the  under-gardener, 
wrinkling  her  forehead  reflectively. 

"They  make  something  from  the  poppy  seeds  that 
brings  sleep,"  said  Herr  Trommel. 

"Where  do  the  poppies  get  it  from?  "  asked  Mary. 

"Where  do  they  get  it  from?"  repeated  Mr. 
Trommel.  "Ah,  I  tell  you !  What  was  the  fine 
young  lady  that  slept  so  long?  " 

"Rip  Van  Winkle  slept  a  long  time,  but  he  was  n't 
a  young  lady.  Oh,  Brunhild?  Was  it  Brunhild?  " 

"No,  not  Brunhild ;  it  was  a  relative  of  hers." 

"Sleeping  Beauty?" 

"Yes,  that  is  the  one  —  where  everything  stopped 
at  once,  and  all  the  palace  went  to  sleep." 

"And  the  hedge  grew  up  so  thick  that  the  prince 
could  hardly  get  through  ! "  said  Mary. 

"Yes ;  well,  there  were  poppies  growing  in  the 
garden  there.  You  know  how  light  and  little  a 
poppy  seed  is,  how  easy  for  it  to  be  carried  by  the 
air?" 

"Oh,  yes!  Little  tiny  things.  We  had  to  mix  them 
with  sand,  you  know,  so  they  would  n't  get  lost." 

"Yes  ;  well,  just  as  the  young  lady  fell  asleep,  and 


THE   POPPIES  167 

the  sleep  charm  passed  over  the  palace  and  over  the 
garden  like  a  breath  of  wind,  a  tiny  poppy  seed  was 
in  the  air,  and  when  it  dropped,  it  dropped  not  in 
the  garden,  but  over  the  wall  and  away.  But  the 
little  seed  had  heard  the  charm,  and  when  it  grew 
up  to  be  a  poppy  it  whispered  it  over  and  over  to 
the  little  seeds  until  they  learned  it.  That  is  how  the 
poppy  seeds  know  the  sleep  charm.  But  not  all 
the  poppies  know  it,  for  although  they  grew  in  the 
garden  there,  it  was  only  the  little  seed  that  dropped 
over  the  wall  that  remembered  it.  The  flowers  in 
the  garden,  you  know,  were  all  put  to  sleep." 

"Did  n't  they  remember  it  when  they  woke  up?" 

Herr  Trommel  shook  his  head.  "They  were  very 
sorry,  but  they  knew  nothing  of  what  had  happened  ; 
no  more  than  the  Van  Winkle  you  spoke  of." 

The  under-gardener  was  silent  a  moment. 
„  "Do  toads  and  other  things  that  sleep  all  winter 
eat  the  poppy  seeds  to  make  them  go  to  sleep  I " 

"No,"  said  Herr  Trommel,  "I  think  not.  You 
know  they  might  not  be  able  to  find  them  when  they 
wanted  to  go  to  sleep.  But  animals  and  insects  and 
plants,  Liebchen,  are  sensible  folk  and  can  always  go 
to  sleep  when  it  is  the  right  time.  It  is  only  men 
who  have  forgotten  how  and  must  get  the  pop- 


168     MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 


pies  to  help  them.     Yet  I  have  seen  a  bee  take  a 
piece  of  a  poppy's  petal  to  line  her  baby's  room  — 
perhaps  that  the  little  one  should  sleep  very  sound. 
Monsieur  Karr  has  seen  this  also." 
"Mr.  Karr?"  repeated  Mary,  puzzled. 
"Yes,  Monsieur  Alphonse  Karr.  The  gentleman  who 
spent  a  year  in  making  the  tour  about  his  garden." 
"How  did  it  take  him  so  long?" 
"Urn  —  well,  I    have   been  fifteen  years  in   my 
garden,  and  yet  I  have  not  seen  it  all." 

"I  should  think,"  said  Mary,  doubtfully,  "that  a 
poppy  petal  would  be 
rather  large  for  a  bee  to 
carry;  you  know,  birds 
can  take  only  a  little  piece 
of  grass  or  other  things. 
Besides,  I  thought  bees 
lived  in  a  hive  and  mad^ 
cells  out  of  wax,"  she  ob- 
jected. 

"Um  — yes.  But  there 
are  other  kinds  of  bees. 
This  bee  I  tell  you  of 
makes  a  little  chamber  in  the  ground ;  and  after  it  is 
nicely  hollowed  in  the  ground,  it  is  not  quite  to  her 


THE   POPPIES  169 

taste,  those  earth  walls.  You  have  seen  the  little 
round  pieces  cut  from  rose-leaves?  Yes?  Well, 
sometimes  the  bee,  as  I  said,  cuts  pieces  out  of  the 
poppy  petals  and  covers  the  walls  with  the  fine 
crimson.  Also  she  mixes  together  a  little  honey  and 
pollen  dust  from  the  flowers  and  makes  a  little  pile 
of  the  bee-bread  in  the  pretty  chamber.  That  is  for 
the  little  fellow  to  eat  before  he  is  become  a  bee. 
Then  she  hangs  a  little  curtain  and  makes  ready  the 
place  for  another  egg." 

"Perhaps  the  bee  puts  the  poppy  petals  and  the 
pollen  inside  so  the  baby  will  know  what  to  do  for  a 
living  when  he  comes  out  a  bee,"  suggested  Mary, 
"so  he  will  know  the  flowers  and  the  pollen  when 
he  sees  them." 

"Perhaps,"  admitted  Mr.  Trommel  j  "but  insects 
do  not  have  to  teach  their  children  anything.  They 
know  everything  they  need  to  know  as  soon  as  they 
are  insects." 

"That  must  be  very — very  convenient,"  sighed 
the  under-gardener. 


V 


CHAPTER    XXI 

THE    CLUB    IN    MARY'S     GARDEN 

[July] 

OU  are  sure  you  can't  come  to  the  meeting? 
Are  n't  you  well,  Mr.  Trommel?"  asked  Mary, 
anxiously.  "You  know  it  's  going  to  be  in  my 
garden." 

"Um— yes,  I  am  quite  well,  Liebchen,  but  I  fear  I 
catch  too  much  enthusiasm  and  activity  from  a  meet- 
ing of  your  society  j  it  would  not  be  safe  at  my  age. 
No.  It  is  much  better  that  you  come  over  and  tell 
me  about  it.  Thus  I  get  the  benefit  of  the  society 
without  that  I  have  so  much  excitement. 

"You  have  the  little  garden  looking  fine  now.  It 
is  well  to  have  the  young  horticulturists  see  it." 

"I  weeded  out  every  little  weed  this  morning,  so 
they  would  n't  see  one.  I  'm  president  of  the  club, 
you  know." 

170 


THE   CLUB   IN   MAEY'S   GAEDEN       171 

"It  is  a  great  responsibility,"  said  Herr  Trommel, 
sympathetically. 

The  under-gardener  nodded.  "I  always  think  of 
it  in  church  when  they  say,  'Bless  thy  servant  the 
President  of  the  United  States,  amd  all  others  in 
authority.' " 

Mr.  Trommel  coughed. 

"What  is  it  you  discuss  this  time  ?  " 

"My  paper  's  on  watering." 

"I  should  like,  indeed,  to  hear  that,"  said  Mr. 
Trommel. 

"And  Buddy  Thomas  is  to  read  a  paper  too.  When 
you  're  a  club  or  a  society  you  say  a  'paper,'  but  it 's 
just  like  a  composition,"  explained  the  under-gar- 
deuer.  "Those  we  have  written  this  summer  we  are 
saving  to  hand  in  at  school  in  the  fall." 

"An  excellent  plan,"  commented  Mr.  Trommel. 

"You  're  sure  you  can't  come?  "  said  Mary,  turn- 
ing back  reluctantly  as  she  stood  at  the  gate. 

"No,  no  !  I  shall  have  a  far  better  understanding 
if  you  come  and  tell  me." 

Certainly  the  little  garden  was  looking  its  prettiest. 
The  sweet  peas  were  abloom  and  the  nasturtiums 
were  sturdily  climbing  toward  the  top  of  the  fence. 


172  MARY'S   GARDEN  AND   HOW   IT   GKEW 


The  color  scheme  might  be  a  trifle  confused,  but 
who  would  care  for  that  ?  The  phlox  was  blossoming, 
in  white  and  pale  pink 
and  red,  and  it  had  not 
the  slightest  objection  to 
the  deep-blue  corn-flowers 
opposite,  nor  the  nastur- 
tiums on  the  little  arbor, 
nor  the  fragrant  migno- 
nette at  its  feet,  nor  the 
tall  yellow  sunflowers  at 
OJt  the  gate,  which  seemed  to 
be  chaperoning  the  little 
company. 

"There     is    something 
doing  all  overthegarden," 
said   Randolph    Findlay- 
son,  enthusiastically. 
The  two  were  in  Mary's  summer-house,  awaiting 
the  coming  of  the  rest  of  the  club. 

"Now  we  must  begin,"  said  Mary,  as  the  last  of  the 
Horticulturals,  Buddy  and  Eleanor,  came  through 
the  gate.  "There  is  n't  room,  for  us  all  in  the  arbor,— 
it  is  n't  as  big  as  the  Juvenile  Bug  room,— so  we  '11 
have  to  sit  on  the  grass.  It  's  Mr.  Hadley's  turn  to 


THE   CLUB   IN   MAKY'S   GARDEN      173 

be  chairman,"  she  added  with  dignity,  "and  the 
chairman  can  stand  in  the  arbor.  There  is  n't  a  chair- 
there  's  only  a  bench,  but  that  will  do ;  that  's  all 
that  judges  have  to  sit  on,  father  says." 

"What  have  you  put  on  your  sweet  peas,  Mary !  " 
asked  Margaret,  who  was  investigating  the  garden. 

"I  have  taken  up  that— that  subject  in  my  paper,"' 
said  the  president  of  the  club,  with  dignity j  "it  's 
a  mulsh." 

"What 's  a  mulsh?  "  asked  Eleanor. 

The  under-gardener  hesitated  a  moment.  "Mulsh 
is  a  covering,"  she  said.  "Sometimes  when  it  is  very 
hot,  Eleanor,  I  have  just  a  sheet  over  me  at  night ; 
sometimes  a  blanket,  or  very  thick  blankets,  or  a 
down  quilt.  Then  I  am  mulshed.  You  cover  the 
ground  over  a  plant's  feet  with  manure — that  is 
'mulsh'  j  or  you  put  dead  leaves,  and  that  is 
'mulsh' ;  or  you  put  clippings  that  the  lawn-mower 
makes  to  keep  the  flowers'  feet  cool,  and  that  is  a 
'mulsh.'  That 's  what  I  did  to  the  sweet  peas." 

But  the  chairman  was  in  the  small  summer-house, 
and  rapped  with  his  jack-knife  on  the  table.  "The 
meeting  will  please  come  to  order." 

The  meeting  sat  down  on  the  grass  with  alarm- 
ing promptness. 


'  BUDDY  AND  ELEANOR  CAME  THROUGH  THE  GATE  ' 


THE  CLUB  IN  MARY'S  GARDEN      175 

"We  will  first  listen  to  a  paper  by— by  our  honored 
president,"  said  Randolph  Findlayson. 

Mary  rose  at  once  and  proceeded  to  the  summer- 
house.  "My  paper  is  about  watering,"  she  said. 

"WATERING 

"The  best  way  to  water  plants  is  not  to  water  them  ; 
that  is,  you  dig  the  flower-bed  very  deep,  then  the 
roots  can  go  down  and  keep  cool  and  find  something 
to  drink.  This  makes  them  self-supporting.  My 
nasturtiums  do  not  get  as  thirsty  as  my  sweet  peas. 
I  don't  know  why  this  is,  except  that  they  are  born 
so.  Lilies  and  irises  are  more  thirsty  than  poppies 
or  mignonette  ;  this  also  is  because  they  are  born  so. 

"It  is  not  good  to  water  when  the  sun  is  shining, 
because  the  sun  drinks  up  the  water  before  the 
flowers  have  a  chance  to.  It  is  n't  good,  either,  to 
give  just  a  little  water  every  night;  that  is  just 
like  only  washing  your  face  and  hands  and  never 
having  a  bath.  Nobody's  mother  lets  you  do  so, 
and  we  must  n't  allow  plants  to  grow  up  that  way, 
either. 

"Plants  drink  all  over,  just  like  they  breathe  all 
over ;  so  when  you  do  water  you  must  just  soak  and 


176     MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREAV 

soak  and  soak  them,  so  that  the  leaves  are  all  wet,  and 
the  water  goes  'way  down  to  the  roots.  Next  morning 
you  work  over  the  ground  with  a  rake  or  hoe.  When 
the  earth  is  loose  on  top,  and  looks  as  if  it  had  n't 
been  wet,  the  sun  does  not  notice  that  there  is  some- 
thing he  can  dry  up,  so  the  water  does  not  e-vap-o-rate 
so  fast.  That  is  what  a  mulsh  is  for. 

"Yesterday,  because  there  had  n't  been  any  rain  for 
a  long  time,  Mr.  Trommel  showed  me  how  to  water 
my  sweet  peas.  You  make  a  little  trench  between 
the  rows,  fill  it  with  water,  and  let  them  drink  it  up  ; 
then  fill  it  again,  and  they  drink  that ;  and  do  it  once 
more.  Then  put  back  the  dirt ;  and  over  that  I  put 
grass- clippings  an  inch  deep  to  make  more  mulsh. 

"Spraying  the  leaves  also  washes  off  the  insects. 
When  plants  are  strong  and  clean  the  insects  do  not 
go  for  them  so  much  as  when  they  look  thin  and  are 
not  feeling  well.  This  is  mean  in  them,  I  think,  and 
reconciles  me  to  having  some  insects  killed,  although 
Mr.  Trommel  says  they  are  often  hard-working  fa- 
thers and  mothers  of  large  families." 

"I  watered  my  garden  every  single  afternoon," 
said  Margaret — "that  is,  when  I  first  had  it,"  she 
added. 


THE   CLUB   IN   MAKY'S   GARDEN      177 

"I  don't  care,"  asserted  Mary.  "Mr.  Trommel 
says  it  is  n't  the  best  way  ;  that  if  you  begin  to  do  it 
you  just  have  to  keep  on  and  water  and  water  and 
water,  and  you  can't  leave  your  garden  at  all,  and 
that  the  sooner  the  plants  take  care  of  themselves  the 
better ;  that  way  the  plants  just  get  a  little  every 
day  and  don't  ever  have  a  good  drink.  He  says  it 
gets  them  into  very  bad  habits." 

"I  know  another  good  way  of  watering,  when 
there  's  a  drought,"  said  the  chairman.  "You  scoop 
out  little  basins  around  the  plants,  and  fill  them  with 
water  two  or  three  times,  till  the  roots  have  had  all 
they  want  to  drink,  and  then  fill  up  these  holeS  with 
dirt.  This  is  something  like  mud-pies ;  it  's  very 
good  fun.  » 

"Who  's  got  another  paper?    You,  Buddy?  " 

"I  'm  not  going  to  read  my  thing,"  declared  Vin- 
cent, with  sudden  modesty. 

"  Got  to,"  responded  the  chairman,  firmly  and  briefly . 

"•It 's  the  laws  of  the  Horticultural  Club,  Buddy," 
said  Eleanor,  cheerfully.  "Jread  a  paper  last  week, 
didn't  I,  Haddie? 

"He  can't  have  any  refreshments  if  he  won't  read 
his  paper,  can  he,  Mary ! "  continued  the  chairman, 
turning  to  the  hostess. 


178     MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

"No ! "  said  the  president,  relentlessly  j    "not  a 
sandwich." 

At  this  the  unwilling  member  arose  and  read  as 

follows : 

"WEEDING 

"Mr.  Trommel  says  weeds  are  plants  which  happen 
to  grow  where  you  don't  want  them. 

"There  are  many  kinds  of  weeds.  Whichever  kind 
you  have  the  most  of  in  your  garden  seems  the  worst, 
especially  plantain. 

"I  have  had  a  great  deal  of 
trouble  with  plantain. 

"I  think  this  is  called 
plantain  because  it  is  always 
planting  itself  where  you 
don't  want  it.  It  is  also 
called  hen-plant:  this  is 
either  because  the  hens  are 
the  only  people  who  like  it, 
or  because  it  can  make  almost 
as  much  trouble  in  the  garden 
as  hens. 

"Most  of  the  weeds  have 
unpleasant  names  and  sound  as  if  they  ought  to  be 
pulled  up.  There  are  pigweed  and  ragweed.  The 


THE   CLUB  IN  MARY'S  GARDEN      179 

pigs  eat  the  pigweed,  like  the  toads  eat  insects ;  but 
it  would  not  do  to  let  a  pig  in  your  garden  to  eat  up 
the  pigweed ;  it  is  better  to  pull  it  up 
yourself.  Pigweed  and  ragweed 
grow  very  tall.  Knot-grass  is  also 
a  weed.  It  does  not 
grow  as  big  as  pigweed, 
but  it  can  make  just  as 
much  bother.  It  is 
called  knot-grass  be- 
cause it  has  roots  that 
seem  to  tie  themselves 
in  knots  with  the  roots 
of  other  things  and  are 
very  hard  to  get  all 
out.  Knot-grass  has  a 
little  pink  flower  that 
is  very  pretty.  Purs- 
lane is  another  weed.  This  does  not  sound  like  a 
weed,  so  sometimes  people  call  it  pusley.  It  has  a  little 
yellow  flower  that  shuts  up  very  early,  but  you  must 
dig  it  out  of  your  garden.  Weeds  should  be  pulled 
out  when  they  are  little  ;  then  they  cannot  grow  big." 

"There  are  more  kinds  of  weeds  than  you  've  told 


180    MAKY'S  GAKDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GEEW 

about,  Buddy,"  commented  Margaret.  "I  've  got 
chickweed  and  dandelions  and  smartweed  and  witch- 
grass  in  my  garden,"  she  enumerated  proudly. 

"Then  you  ought  to  get  your  hoe  and  dig  them 
out  just  as  soon  as  you  go  home,  Margaret,"  advised 
Finnan  Haddie  ;  "and  smartweed  's  just  the  same  as 
knot-grass,  anyway." 

"Hoeing  is  n't  the  best  way  to  weed,"  said  Donald ; 
"you  just  cut  off  the  tops  and  don't  get  out  the  roots 
that  way.  I  get  down  on  my  hands  and  knees  and 
pull  them  out." 

"I  know  a  better  way  than  that,"  asserted  Mary  ; 
"you  just  lie  flat  down  on  the  grass  in  front  of  the  bed 
and  lean  on  your  elbow,  and  then  you  can  pull  out 
every  little  weed.  When  it 's  quitch-grass,  you  have 
to  follow  up  the  roots  with  your  hands." 

"It  would  be  nice  if  some  animal  would  just  eat 
up  the  weeds,  like  the  toads  eat  insects  for  us." 

"Mr.  Trommel  says,"  observed  Mary,  "that  if  you 
weed  and  weed  and  weed  when  the  plants  are  little, 
then  the  flower  gets  a  head-start  and  you  don't  have 
so  much  to  do  by  and  by." 

Mary's  yellow-haired  neighbor  lingered  after  the 
other  small  guests  were  gone. 


THE   CLUB   IN   MARY'S   GARDEN      181 


"I  think  we  had  a  beautiful  meeting,  Mary !     I 
wish    we    could    have    them    here    every    week." 

Mary  nodded.  "It  was  a 
nice  meeting,"  she  said ;  "but 
there  won't  be  any  more  for  a 
long  time— everybody  's  going 
away.  We  're  going,  too,  next 
week,  Haddie.  Did  you  know 
it?" 

"Wish  I  could  go,  too,"  he 
said. 

"It  would  be  very  nice," 
agreed  Mary. 

"I  '11  look  over  your  garden 
for  you  sometimes,  Mary,  and 
see  that  the  toads  don't  run  away ;  but—"  he  hesi- 
tated, "but  the  garden  won't  be  half  so  nice,"  he 
ended  regretfully. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

WHEN  MARY  WAS  IN  THE   COUNTRY 

"A  ND  did  you  have  a  fine  time  in  the  country ?  " 
-A-  asked  Mr.  Trommel  of  the  under-gardener,  who 
was  sitting  opposite  him  on  his  little  porch. 

"Um-m-m  !  Beautiful ! "  said  Mary,  apprecia- 
tively. 

"And  what  have  you  learned?  " 

"Well,"  confessed  Mary,  modestly,  "I  did  n't  learn 
so  very  much,  but  I  taught  Kenneth  ever  so  many 
things." 

"That  is  even  more  pleasant,"  said  Mr.  Trommel. 
"It  is  better  to  give  than  to  receive  instruction." 

"And  I  drove  the  hay-cart,  Mr.  Trommel ;  and 
once  I  rode  horseback  on  one  of  the  oxen  !  Did  you 
ever  try  that?" 

"No,"  he  said,  puffing  at  his  pipe.  "You  see,  I 
might  not  fit." 

182 


WHEN  MARY  WAS  IN  THE   COUNTRY     183 

"But  the  best  fun  was  roping  hay." 

"Roping  hay?  "  repeated  Herr  Trommel. 

"Don't  you  know  thatf"  asked  Mary,  in  surprise. 

Herr  Trommel  shook  his  head.  "I  do  not  know  it. 
Tell  me,  Liebchen." 

"Well,"  began  Mary,  drawing  a  long  breath,  "Dor- 
set is  all  hills.  Part  of  the  way  up  the  mountain  it 's 
hay-field,  and  beyond  that  it 's  cows.  And  it 's  very 
steep.  You  'd  think  the  cows  would  n't  dare  to 
do  anything  but  stand  up  j  that  as  soon  as  they  began 
to  sit  down,  they  would  roll  right  down  the  moun- 
tain—but they  don't.  And  almost  every  morning 
there  are  big  clouds  sitting  down  behind  the  barn." 

"Perhaps  they  are  caught  on  the  top  and  roll 
down  as  you  think  the  cows  might?"  suggested  Mr. 
Trommel. 

"Perhaps,"  admitted  Mary. 

"But  how  did  you  rope  the  hay  ?  "  asked  the  old 
gardener. 

"That 's  what  I  'm  telling  you  about,"  said  Mary. 
"First  you  make  windrows— you  know  what  wind- 
rows are?  When  the  grass  is  all  cut  with  the  mow- 
ing-machine, then  it 's  hay.  Then  they  take  a  horse- 
rake  and  drive  down,  and  the  hay  collects  in  the  big 
curved  teeth ;  and  every  once  in  a  while  the  man 


184     MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

pulls  a  handle  and  the  teeth  fly  up  and  the  hay  drops 
in  a  kind  of  long  pile— that 's  raking.  Every  time 
he  comes  to  one  of  these  rows  he  pulls  the  handle. 
And  when  the  hay  is  raked  it  's  all  piled  up  in 
long  rows— those  are  windrows.  If  you  are  going 
to  load  the  hay  on  the  wagon,  you  pile  up  the  hay  in 
the  windrows  and  make  it  into  mounds— those  are 
haycocks.  You  don't  do  that  when  you  are  roping  it." 

"It  is  the  roping  I  wish  to  hear  about,"  said  Mr. 
Trommel. 

"But  I  'm  telling  you  as  fast  as  I  can,"  declared  the 
under-gardener,  a  little  aggrieved. 

"Excuse  me,  little  one  ;  I  interrupt  the  story.  Go 
on." 

"Well,"  said  Mary,  drawing  another  long  breath, 
"when  the  hay  is  all  in  windrows,  and  you  see  them 
taking  out  the  horses  without  any  wagon,  you  must 
run  as  fast  as  you  can,  for  they  are  going  to  rope  it. 
The  horses  are  all  harnessed,  but  they  are  n't  har- 
nessed to  anything  except  the  cross-bar  that  you 
fasten  the  long  leather  pieces  to — the—" 

"The  whiffletree,"  suggested  Mr.  Trommel. 

"Yes,  I  think  that 's  it,"  said  the  under-gardener, 
judicially ;  "and  that  is  fastened  to  a  long  chain,  and 
one  horse  is  fastened  to  one  end  and  one  to  the  other, 


ROPING  HAY 


186    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

and  then  they  begin  at  the  bottom  and  drive  them 
up  past  three  or  four  windrows ;  and  then  one  horse 
stands  still  and  some  one  holds  him,  and  a  man 
drives  the  other  horse,  just  walking  beside  him  and 
holding  the  reins— that  way, — to  the  other  end  of  the 
windrow." 

"I  see  ;  and  the  chain  is  on  the  upper  side." 
"Yes.  Then  they  drive  the  horses  down  the  slope 
and  toward  each  other,  too,  and  the  hay  collects  in 
a  big  bunch,  and  the  chain  holds  it,  and  you  sit  on  it, 
and  it  's- beautiful!  The  last  trips  are  the  nicest 
ones,  for  the  hay  is  'way  up  and  you  have  a  long  ride. 
It 's— it 's  extremely  interesting,"  she  said. 

"Urn,"  said  Herr  Trommel ;  "I  should  think  it 
might  be.  I  did  not  know  that  method.  I  have 
learned  something." 


CHAPTEE   XXIII 

MR.  TROMMEL  TEACHES  THE   ART  OF   BUDDING 

[August] 
HE    little    Horticultural    Club    is    not    dead,  I 


hope?"  said  Mr.  Trommel  to  the  under-gar- 
dener,  who  had  come  to  call. 

"Oh,  no,  it  is  n't  dead,"  said  Mary.  "You  see,  I 
was  away,  and  Mildred  and  Donald  are  away  still ; 
it 's  just— just  resting." 

"I  bud  some  young  apple-trees  to-morrow,"  re- 
marked Herr  Trommel,  casually.  Then  he  puffed 
at  his  pipe  in  silence. 

"What  's  budding,  Mr.  Trommel?"  asked  Mary, 
immediately  interested. 

Herr  Trommel  set  floating  a  great  cloud  of  smoke. 
"It  is  like  grafting,"  he  said  ;  "only  different." 

"Oh ! "   said  Mary,  and   was  silent,   while  Herr 
Trommel  puffed  at  his  pipe. 
187 


188     MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  two  were  sit- 
ting on  the  broad  door-step,  for  it  was  Herr  Trom- 
mel's hour  of  shirt-sleeved  meditation. 

"Do  trees  like  to  be  grafted? "  asked  Mary,  after  a 
few  minutes.  "Do  they  always  like  to  grow  to  be 
something  different?" 

"No,"  he  said ;  "sometimes  they  do  not  like  it  at 
all ;  sometimes  they  show  you  very  plainly  what  they 
think.  But  it  is  life ;  it  is  education.  Do  you  re- 
member that  eglantine  of  Monsieur  Karr's?  No? 

"Well,  then,  this  eglantine  was  grafted  with  a  fine 
sort-" 

"I  know  how  you  do  that ! "  broke  in  his  listener  ; 
"and  you  put  the  grafted  place  a  little  way  under 
the  ground  so  the  suckers  won't  come  up." 

"Yes,  yes !  you  have  a  fine  mind,  but  you  should 
not  interrupt.  This  eglantine  did  not  wish  to  be  a 
grafted  rose  and  have  very  fine  flowers.  He  liked 
better  his  own  little  roses.  Yes. 

"So  he  sent  up  a  shoot.  The  gardener  said  it  was 
but  a  sucker,  and  he  cut  it  off. 

"He  sent  up  another  shoot,  but  the  gardener  cut 
that  off.  And  again  and  again— until  he  found  it 
was  no  use. 

"Then  he  sent  his  roots  far  along  under  the  ground, 


ME.  TEOMMEL  TEACHES  BUDDING     189 

and  there,  on  the  other  side  of  the  fence,  where  the 
gardener  could  not  see  it,  came  up  a  fine  strong 
shoot,  a  little  eglantine,  just  like  its  papa. 

"Then  the  graft,  the  adopted  baby,  grew  weak  and 
thin  and  the  little  eglantine  grew  fat  and  strong.  Be- 
cause why  ?  The  eglantine  was  treating  the  graft  as 
in  the  fairy  stories  the  wicked  stepmother  treats  the 
child  that  is  not  hers.  All  the  food— everything— 
went  to  the  baby  on  the  other  side  of  the  fence. 

"But  the  gardener  did  not  know  this.  He  was 
troubled  about  his  fine  rose.  He  stirred  the  ground. 
He  put  on  the  liquid  manure.  But  the  graft  had 
none  of  it.  The  eglantine  sent  all  to  its  own  baby.  Yes. 

"By  and  by  the  graft,  the  little  aristocrat,  died; 
but  the  eglantine  over  the  fence  was  starred  all  over 
with  little  roses.  After  a  while  the  eglantine— the 
papa— died  also.  It  had  given  all  its  food  to  the 
baby.  "When  the  gardener  dug  up  his  dead  rose- 
bush, it  was  only  then  he  knew  what  had  happened. 
He  found  the  root  going  to  the  other  side  of  the 
fence;  then  he  saw  the  little  eglantine  with  its  pretty 
roses.  Then  he  knew  why  his  fine  rose  had  died." 

"How  did  the  eglantine  know  that  the  gardener 
could  n't  see  its  baby  if  it  was  on  the  other  side  of 
the  fence  ?  "  asked  Mary. 


190    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

"That  I  cannot  tell,"  said  Herr  Trommel.  "Per- 
haps it  did  not  know.  But  plants  will  take  much 
trouble  for  their  children." 

"I  'm  sorry  for  the  graft  that  died,"  said  Mary, 
slowly  ;  "but  I  'm  glad  the  eglantine  took  care  of  its 
own  baby.  It  does  n't  seem  fair  to  make  plants  be 
what  they  don't  want  to  be." 

"No-o,"  said  Mr.  Trommel,  doubtfully  j  "but  it  is 
education  ;  it  is  life  ;  it  is  also  horticulture." 

The  next  afternoon,  when  his  visitors  came,  Mr. 
Trommel  was  down  at  the  end  of  his  garden,  at  work 
already  on  his  young  apple-trees. 

"  I  brought  Haddie,  Mr.  Trommel.  Do  you  mind  I " 
asked  Mary.  "He  wanted  to  learn  budding,  too." 

"Eh?  What?"  Herr  Trommel  turned  and  scruti- 
nized the  two.  "It  is  a  good  lad.  I  shall  not  mind," 
he  said,  and  turned  again  to  his  task. 

The  old  gardener  was  taking  his  work  comfortably. 
He  sat  on  a  square,  low  bench,  no  higher  than  a  has- 
sock. "It  is  as  well,"  he  said  to  Finnan  Haddie,  who 
was  looking  interestedly  over  his  shoulder,  "to  work 
in  comfort  as  in  discomfort.  Yes !  One  must  not 
grudge  the  backache  for  one's  work— no.  But  if  one 
can  work  as  well  and  have  no  backache,  it  is  better. 


MR.  TKOMMEL  TEACHES  BUDDING     191 


So  I  have  the  little  bench.  I  also  have  the  lower 
edges  curved  like  a  little  sled.  Thus  I  can  move 
along  without  rising." 

"Is  that  the  <  bud'  -that  stick  in  your 
hand?"  asked  the  boy, 

"No,  no  !  These  are  the  '  buds  '—this  and 
this."  He  touched  with  his  budding-knife 
the  little  "bumps"  on  the  branch,  as  Mary 
called  them. 

"Now  look  !  First,  I  find  a  smooth 
place  on  the  stem  of  the  tree.  Then  I  make 


T 


a  cut  across, 
cut  length- 
stock. 

"Then 
little 


bud, 


so. 
wise 


Then  I  make  another 
so.     That    is    for   the 


I  take  the  bud-stick  and  I  cut  a 
thin  slice,  deepest  just  under  the 
so.     Then  I  hold  it  carefully  by  the 
handle— the  bud,  that  is — and  I  take  out 
with  my  knife  the  thin 
BUD-  STICK      piece    of     wood    inside, 
very  carefully,  or  the  bud 
will  come  out,  too,— yes !  and  I  leave  but  a 
tiny  bit  of  the  wood  just  under  the  bud.     It 
is  ready. 

"Now,"  and  he  turned  his  attention  again  to  the 


192    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

young  apple-tree,  "I  slip  the  thin  ivory  end  of  my 
budding-knife  that  is  made  just  for  this— I  slip  it 
under  the  bark  and  loosen  it,  so.  Then  I  can 
slip  the  bud  in — yes.  And  now  I  tie  it,"  he 
_  said,  taking  a  strand  of  damp  raffia  from  the 

B         bunch  thrust  under  his  apron-string,  and  be- 
j         ginning  to  bandage  carefully.  "I  must  cover 
the  cut  well,  so  that  the  rain  shall  not  get  in  ; 
I  must  also  have  it  close  around  the  bud,  so." 
"Does  it  stay  like  that  all  winter?"  asked 
,~.f~rf0  Finnan  Haddie. 

"No,  no  !    In  perhaps  ten  days  I  take  the  bandage 
off;    I    must    not    choke    the    little    fellow— no!" 

"Now  you  're  going  to  let  us  bud 
some  of  the  trees,  are  n't  you,  Mr.  Trom- 
mel?" coaxed  Mary. 

"What ! "  exclaimed  Herr  Trommel, 
turning  himself  around  on  his  bench 
and  looking  rather  aghast  at  his  visitors, 
who  had  taken  out  expectant  jack- 
knives.  "But  I  wish  them  to  grow! 
Am  I  not  showing  you  how  ?  " 

The  young  gardeners  looked  crestfallen. 
"But  how  can  we  learn,  Mr.  Trommel,  if  you  won't 
let  us  do  some  ourselves  ?  "  asked  Finnan  Haddie. 


ME.  TROMMEL  TEACHES  BUDDING  193 

Mr.  Trommel  fixed  his  spectacles  on  the  boy.  "You 
are  right,  my  lad,"  said  he,  after  a  moment.  "I  tell 
you — go  to  that  old  tree  yonder  and  cut  some  twigs 
like  this"— and  he  held  up  one  of  his  bud-sticks. 

"Now,"  he  said  when  these  were  brought,  "these 
shall  be  your  bud-sticks.  You  must  each  take  one, 
yes !  Now  try  if  you  can  cut  a  bud  well  from  this 
little  branch  and  take  out  also  the  bit  of  wood  inside. 
If  you  can  do  that  well,  then  I  shall  let  you  cut  a 
bud  from  one  of  my  bud-sticks  and  put  it  in  one  of 
my  little  trees,  below  the  bud  I  shall  put  in.  Be 
careful  that  you  do  not  cut  the  fingers  ! " 

Both  the  young  gardeners  worked  for  a  few  mo- 
ments in  silence. 

"No,  no  ! "  said  Herr  Trommel  as  Mary  showed  him 
her  production ;  "it  is  haggled,  it  is  dirty  inside— you 
have  dropped  it  on  the  ground  !  When  you  cut  your 
hand,  do  you  not  know  you  must  wash  the  sand  from 
the  cut  before  you  stick  it  together  with  plaster? 
The  apple-tree  also  does  not  like  that  it  have  a  cut 
stuck  together  with  sand  inside.  Let  me  see  your 
knife ! " 

Mary  held  out  a  limp-bladed  jack-knife  for  inspec- 
tion. 

Mr.  Trommel  grunted  disapprovingly.    "No  won- 


194    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

der  you  cannot  cut!"  He  sighed  deeply.  "Take 
mine,"  he  said  resignedly ;  "  now  try  again." 

Mary  screwed  her  forehead  into  a  frown  of  intense 
effort,  for  Mr.  Trommel's  spectacles  were  upon  her. 

"Ah,  that  is  better  !  "  said  the  old  gardener,  ap- 
provingly ;  "it  is  not  muscle,  but  skill  and  a  sharp 
knife." 

"How  is  that?  "  asked  Randolph  Findlayson,  anx- 
iously holding  up  his  "bud"  for  Mr.  Trommel's  in- 
spection. 

"It  is  good,"  admitted  Mr.  Trommel. 

"Then  I  can  bud  one  of  your  trees'?"  he  begged 
eagerly. 

"Yes,"  said  Herr  Trommel,  resolutely.  "It  would 
not  be  right  that  you  should  grow  to  be  a  man  and 
not  know  budding. 

"Have  you  found  a  smooth  place?  Yes?  And  be- 
low the  bud  I  put  in?  That  is  right. 

"I  think  if  George  Washington's  father  had  but 
taught  him  to  bud,  he  would  not  have  lost  his  cherry- 
tree.  No.  For  then,  when  the  little  George  felt  he 
must  cut,  he  would  have  budded  the  cherry-tree. 
He  would  not  have  cut  it  down.  No." 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

TRANSPLANTING   PERENNIALS 
[Early  September] 

"T  BREAK  up  some  families  to-morrow,"  remarked 
J-  Mr.  Trommel ;  "you  want  to  see  how  it  is  done?  " 

"Is  it  insects  ?  "  asked  the  under-gardener,  who 
was  leaning  on  the  fence,  admiring  Mr.  Trommel's 
asters. 

"No,  no,  it  is  not  insects ;  it  is— some  perennials. 
The  family  has  grown  too  large,  so  I  must  send  off 
some  of  the  young  ones  ;  it  is  my  larkspurs." 

"Why  do  you  move  them  now?" 

"It  is  the  time." 

"But  why  is  it  the  time?"  persisted  the  under- 
gardener. 

"Liebchen,  you  will  be  the  savant  some  day,  you  ask 
so  many  questions.  The  larkspurs  have  finished 
blooming,  they  have  retired.  If  I  separate  them  now, 
195 


196    MAKY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW   IT  GREW 

they  have  time  to  make  themselves  at  home,  and  they 
will  be  ready  to  blossom  in  the  spring.  I  do  the 
same  thing  now  to  the  irises  and  the  phloxes — the 
tall  ones.  They  have  finished  their  summer's  work. 
I  give  them  a  change  of  place  and  send  away  some 
of  the  children. 

"They  do  not  like  that  you  interfere  with  them 
early,  when  they  are  preparing  for  the  summer  ;  also 
they  will  not  have  you  move  them  when  they  are 
blooming.  So  we  wait  until  they  have  finished." 

'  "I  understand,"  said  Mary ;  "and  if  I  dug  up  my 
phlox  and  made  twins  of  it  all,  would  it  bloom  next 
year  like  yours  ?  " 

"No,  no !  your  phlox  is  Drummondi,  it  is  annual. 
Annuals  are  good  to  grow  quickly— they  are  also  good 
to  die  quickly.  Me— I  like  the  perennials  better— 
they  are  like  old  friends  who  come  every  year." 

"Perennials  and  annuals  and  all  the  kinds  of  plants 
used  to  mix  me  up  very  much,  but  I  have  them  all 
straight  now." 

"Yes?"  said  Mr.  Trommel,  inquiringly.  Shovel 
in  hand,  he  was  inspecting  a  clump  of  peonies.  "Now 
you  comprehend?" 

"You  see,  it 's  this  way,"  explained  Mary.  "There 's 
evergreens ;  that 's  very  easy  :  they  are  ever  green, 


TRANSPLANTING   PERENNIALS       197 


they  don't  change  in  the  winter.    Then  comes  de-cid- 

uous;  that 's  like  lots  of  trees  and  shrubs  :  they  pay 

a  little  more  attention 

to  the  winter,  and  drop 

their  leaves  and  just  go 

in     the    bare    branches. 

Next    come    perennials; 

those  die  down  until  you 

would  think  they  were 

dead,  but  they  are  n't, 

for  the  roots   are  alive. 

And  then  there  are  the 

annuals;     they    are     all 

dead.      The     deciduous 

shrubs,    and    perennials, 

and  annuals  are  just  like 

that  story  of  Top-off  and  Half- gone  and  All -gone." 

"I  have  forgotten  the  story,"  said  Mr.  Trommel. 
"But  that  is  very  interesting." 

"Then  there  's  another  way  to  remember  it.  I 
think  of  the  animals.  A  horse  or  a  dog  is  like  an 
evergreen;  they  are  always  around,  and  look  about 
the  same.  And  a  turtle  digs  down  into  the  mud  and 
stays  there  all  winter,  and  then  comes  out  in  the 
spring  ;  he  is  a  perennial.  And  the  dragon-flies  and 


198    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

butterflies,  that  just  live  for  one  summer— they  are 
annuals." 

"That  also  is  very  interesting,"  said  Mr.  Trommel. 
"But  you  know  there  are  biennials— the  plants  that 
live  two  years.  How  can  you  remember  those  ?  " 

"They  troubled  me  quite  a  little,"  admitted  Mary  ; 
"but  I  have  them  now.  They  are  almost  like  annuals  ; 
and  a  is  for  annual,  and 
then  conies  b— that  's  for 
biennials;  and  perennials 
ought  to  be  c,  but  they 
are  n't ;  and  then  comes  d 
for  deciduous,  and  e  for 
evergreen." 

"You  have  a  fine  mind, 
my  child,"  said  Herr  Trom- 
mel ;  "but  you  know  these 
*"***.  annuals  and  biennials  and 
perennials  you  tell  me  of 
belong  to  one  large  class,— 
\  the  herbaceous, — while  the 

deciduous  and  evergreen  are  woody  plants,  and  you 
must  not  have  them  mixed." 

"Oh,  no ;  I  can  remember  those  because  I  learned 
herbivorous  animals  :  herbivorous  animals  have  n't  as 


TRANSPLANTING   PERENNIALS       199 

sharp  teeth  as  the  carnivorous,  and  herbaceous  are 
the  things  they  can  eat.  A  horse  likes  to  eat  the 
leaves  of  trees  or  bushes,  and  he  does  n't  mind  a 
few  little  hard  twigs ;  he  tries  to  eat  the  tree,  but 
he  can  only  eat  a  little  of  the  bark.  But  he  could  n't 
eat  up  the  whole  tree.  If  it  was  herbaceous,  he 
could. 

"The  woody  things,  the  trees  and  shrubs  that  are  n't 
herbaceous,  can  keep  their  tops  up  above  the  earth 
all  winter ;  but  the  herbaceous  can't.  They  've  only 
got  summer  dresses  and  not  any  winter  ones,  so  all  of 
them  that  are  n't  eaten  or  picked  at  the  end  of  the 
summer  get  their  death  of  cold.  But  the  roots  of 
some  of  them,  if  they  are  perennials,  can  live  just  as 
long  as — as  anything  !  " 

"That  is  very,  very  enlightening,"  observed  Herr 
Trommel ;  "but  if  you  are  not  careful  to  be  a  good 
gardener,  perhaps  you  will  give  the  lectures  on  Nature 
Study  when  you  grow  up,  and  that  would  be  a  sad 
thing ! " 

The  under-gardener  looked  grave.  "Then  perhaps 
we  'd  better  go  on  with  the  planting,"  said  Mary,  in 
a  subdued  voice. 

Herr  Trommel  dug  up  a  large  clump  of  phloxes. 
"They  do  not  come  apart  very  easily,"  he  said,  feel- 


200    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

ing  among  the  roots  for  the  plants  and  then  pulling 
them  apart. 

"The  family  are  very  fond  of  each  other,"  re- 
marked Mary. 

"Urn  !  But  it  is  not  all  affection  ;  the  roots  are  all 
trying  to  get  something  to  eat  for  themselves.  I  have 
them  apart  now — one,  two,  three,  — five  roots.  Now 
we  shall  have  five  plants  where  we  had  one.  This 
way  the  garden  grows  itself  every  year,  and  then  you 
have  plants  to  give  away. 

"Now  we  divide  the  larkspur— the  Delphinium." 

"Why  do  you  call  larkspur  Delphinium  ? "  asked 
Mary. 

"Why  do  we  call  it  Delphinium  f "  repeated  Herr 
Trommel.  "Oh,  because  some  man  thought  the  little 
nectary  of  the  flower,  the  little  place  where  it  keeps 
the  sweet,  looked  like  a  dolphin." 

"That  is  n't  a  very  good  reason,"  objected  Mary. 
"It  does  n't  look  a  bit  like  a  fish.  Why  don't  they 
call  it  something  that  would  let  you  know  it  is  such 
a  lovely  blue  ? " 

"That  I  cannot  tell,  lAebchen.  Flowers  have  suf- 
fered much  at  the  hands  of  botanists.  Delphinium 
is  not  a  bad-sounding  name.  The  pretty  larkspur 
has  not  much  to  complain  of.  But  I  think  that  lovely 


TRANSPLANTING  PERENNIALS       201 

one,  the  California  poppy,  felt  very  sad  the  day  that 
Herr  von  Eschscholtz  found  her  and  she  was  named 
Eschscholtzia—ihe  poor  thing !  She  must  go  always 
to  a  new  home  with  that  name  fastened  to  her. 

"This  larkspur  will  divide  into  three,"  he  contin- 
ued, turning  again  to  his  work  ;  "and  we  put  each  in 
a  new  place,  and  they  each  start  a  new  family." 

"It 's  just  like  making  colonies,  is  n't  it?"  remarked 
Mary. 

"Yes,"  assented  Mr.  Trommel ;  "except  that  one 
does  not  have  to  dig  up  the  roots  of  all  the  people  in 
the  old  country  to  move  a  few  to  the  new. 

"Now  we  divide  the  irises.  We  cut  with  the  spade 
where  we  cannot  pull  apart." 

"Irises  have  a  pretty  name." 

Herr  Trommel  nodded.  "Yes;  they  have  not 
suffered." 

"Iris  was  a  goddess  who  had  lots  of  different-col- 
ored dresses,"  explained  Mary.  "I  think  she  used  to 
wear  a  rainbow  over  her  shoulder." 

"She  might,"  admitted  Mr.  Trommel. 

"And the  iris  is  called  iris  because  it  is  so  beautifully 
shaded,  the  violet  into  the  white  and  lavender  and— 
What  is  that  thing,  Mr.  Trommel,"  she  broke  off— 
"that  thick  root  with  the  little  roots  coming  from  it  ?  " 


202     MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

"That  has  another  bad  name,  little  one :  it  is 
rhizome.  It  is  the  place  where  the  iris  stores  the 
food  and  moisture ;  the  roots  bring  it  there.  We 
must  give  the  iris  plenty  of  room  when  we  transplant. 
She  is  a  delicate  thing — a  rainbow-lady,  as  you  say ; 
but  she  has  the  fine  appetite,  and  she  also  likes  much 
to  drink." 

"Are  n't  you  going  to  put  the  rhiz— the  storehouse 
—farther  down  ?  " 

"No,  no  !  The  roots  go  down.  The  rhizome— the 
storehouse— stays  on  top.  Now  we  have  the  peonies 
and  phloxes  and  larkspurs  settled — yes!  Now  I  set 
out  some  young  hollyhocks  from  my  seed-bed.  You 
have  some  to  set  out  from  your  garden,  have  you 
not?" 

"Oh,  yes  ;  mine  are  fine." 

"And  where  shall  you  put  them?"  inquired  Mr. 
Trommel  of  the  young  gardener. 

"In  my  perennial  border,"  answered  Mary,  with 
dignity.  "I  'm  going  to  have  lots  of  hollyhocks  next 
year,  but  I  thought  it  would  be— be  pleasanter  if  I 
saw  you  move  yours  first.  Then  I  would  have  expe- 
rience. It  's  hard  to  know  when  you  're  doing  it 
just  right." 

"No-o,"  answered  tjie  old  gardener ;   "you  must 


TRANSPLANTING  PERENNIALS       203 

only  remember  that  the  roots  have  feelings,  and  that 
the  plant  does  not  like  to  be  disturbed  when  it  is  busy 
with  other  matters.  And 
water  well  when  you  are 
transplanting.  I  tell  you 
another  thing,  Liebchen: 
plants  will  take  much  pe- 
culiar treatment  from  peo- 
ple that  love  them.  Ah  ! " 
he  said,  straightening  him- 
self, "the  old  Peter  is  tired  ! 
I  shall  do  no  more  to-day. 
Here,  little  one  ;  these  are 
for  you.  That  is  iris  and 
phlox  and  the  Delphinium 
and  one  root  of  peony— 
there  is  not  room  for  more  than  one  in  your  garden." 

"I  'm  very,  Very  much  obliged,  Mr.  Trommel," 
said  the  under-gardener,  gratefully.  "Do  you  think 
I  can  plant  them  all  right  myself?  " 

"Why  not?  Are  you  not  now  an  experienced  gar- 
dener, and  the  president  of  the  Horticultural  Club 
that  is  now  resting?" 


CHAPTER   XXV 

THE  FLOWER  SHOW 
[September] 

Tj^EW  people  in  Brookside  did  not  know  of  the 
*-  Flower  Show.  There  was  a  large  placard  on 
Judge  Patterson's  gate : 

GRAND  FLOWER  SHOW 

BY  THE 
HORTICULTURAL   CLUB 

AT  THREE  O'CLOCK 
ADMISSION,  10  CENTS 

and    for   a  week  the  club  had  industriously  sold 

tickets.      A    pasteboard  box,   slit   invitingly,   and 

marked,  FOR  PRIZES  FOR  THE  FLOWER  SHOW,  was 

204 


THE   FLOWER   SHOW  205 

placed  where  it  could  not  be  overlooked  in  the 
house  of  each  member.  < 

"My,  my!"  said  Mr.  Trommel,  admiringly,  as 
Mary  set  down  her  wheelbarrow  just  outside  his 
gate,  "what  fine  sunflowers  !" 

"Yes,  and  look,"  she  said,  lifting  aside  the  sun- 
flowers and  showing  long-stemmed  white  Comet 
asters,  "and  sweet  peas,  too  ! " 

"My,  my  !  "  he  repeated.  "There  will  not  be  a 
prize  left  in  the  exhibition  ! " 

"I  think  there  will  be,"  she  said ;  "we  've  got  lots 
of  prizes.  They  are  n't  very  big,  but  there  are  lots 
of  them." 

"And  that  is  all  you  are  showing?" 

The  under-gardener  nodded.  "My  corn-flowers 
have  stopped  blooming;  I— I  forgot  to  cut  them," 
she  explained ;  "and  I  know  Eleanor's  nasturtiums 
are  better  than  mine,  but  she  has  n't  any  sunflowers." 

"That  is  right — you  should  bring  but  the  best." 

"And  I  cut  them  this  morning,  early.  That  was 
the  best  time,  you  said—  Haddie  ! "  she  broke  off 
suddenly,  as  her  neighbor  came  out  of  his  gate, 
laden  with  a  great  market-basket,  "come  over  and 
show  Mr.  Trommel !  " 

"And  what  have  you,  my  lad!"  asked  the  old 


206     MAEY'S  GAEDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GEEW 

man,  as  the  second  young  gardener  stood  beside  his 
fetice. 

"Asters,  and  squashes,  and  cdm,"  answered  Ean- 
dolph  Findlayson.  "Look  !  "  and  he  held  up  a  thick, 
green -clad  ear. 

"Prachtvoll /"  declared  the  old  gardener.  "But  at 
thes  how  you  should  pull  back  the  husk  and  the 
pretty  silk  a  little,  that  people  may  see  what  a  fine 
big  ear  is  there." 

"  '  What  Ug  ears  you  've  got ! ' "  quoted  Mary,  with 
a  laugh.  "But  come  on  now,  Haddie.  Don't  you 
forget  to  come  early,  Mr.  Trommel.  You  're  one  of 
the  judges,  you  know,"  she  said,  as  they  turned 
away. 

The  Pattersons'  piazza  was  a  very  busy  place,  es- 
pecially the  broad,  railed-in  space  at  the  north  end 
which  extended  some  twenty  feet  beyond  the  house. 
This  was  shaded  by  awnings,  and  cut  off  by  Japanese 
screens  from  the  rest  of  the  piazza.  Behind  the  screens 
there  was  bustling,  and  chatting,  and  running ;  the 
exhibitors  were  hurrying  to  and  fro,  finding  water 
and  jars  for  their  flowers ;  some  were  already  arrang- 
ing them  on  the  long,  narrow  table  (boards  on  boxes). 
There  were  flowers  in  market-baskets,  on  the  table, 
or  laid  in  piles  on  chairs. 


THE   FLOWEK  SHOW 


207 


"Some  of  the  vases  will  be  prettier  than  others," 
complained  Eleanor,  "and  it  won't  be  fair  ! " 

"Well,  when  I  was  at  the  Rose  Show  with  father," 
said  Mildred,  "everything  was  in  flat  glass  bottles- 
like  they  put  vinegar  in,  only 
without  any  handle ;  but  we 
can't  get  those,"  she  added. 

"They  ought  to  be  all 
alike,"  persisted  Eleanor. 

The  president  thought 
deeply  for  a  moment.  "Pre- 
serve-jars ! "  she  exclaimed, 
struck  by  asudden  inspiration. 

"We  can  get  lots  of  them," 
cried  Donald.  "Come  on, 
Buddy !" 

"Nobody  must  help  any- 
body, either,"  said  Eleanor, 
putting  her  head  on  one  side 
and  standing  back  from  the 
table  to  look  at  her  nasturtiums,  "because  there  's 
a  prize  for  the  prettiest  arrangement.  There  are 
lots  of  prizes,  are  n't  there,  Mary?  " 

But  the  president  was  busily  arranging  her  sun- 
flowers in  a  stone  jar,  and  only  nodded. 


208    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREAV 


"There  '11  be  prizes  for  everybody!"  repeated 
Eleanor. 

"If  they  can  get  them,"  added  Buddy,  who  had 
come  back  with  a  load  of  fruit-jars. 

"Twenty-five  cents  is  the 
first  prize,"  said  Margaret, 
who  was  dipping  the  jars 
into  a  pail  of  water ;  "and 
ten  cents  is  the  second, 
Eleanor,  and  we  ?ve  got  to 
stay  out  while  the  judges 
are  making  up  their  minds." 
"And  we  must  n't  put  our 
names  on  the  flowers  till 
afterward,"  said  Mary. 

"Oh,  they  're  coming!  " 
said  Buddy  Thomas,  ex- 
citedly, thrusting  his  head 
from  behind  '  the  screen. 
"The  judges  are  here,  and 
there  's  lots  of  people  com- 
ing up  on  the  piazza.  Don- 
ald 's  down  there  by  the  gate,  taking  the  admission. 
Are  you  ready  ?  " 

"No ! "  said  Mary,  coming  out  from  behind  the 


THE   FLOWEK   SHOW 


209 


screen.  "The  exhibition 's  not  yet  open  to  the  pub- 
lic," she  said  firmly  to  the  relatives  and  friends  of 
the  Horticultural  Club,  who  were  fast  assembling. 

"Mr.  Trom- 
mel 's  in  there ; 
I  saw  him!" 
complained  Mar- 
garet's little  bro- 
ther. 

"Mr.  Trom- 
mel," answered 
the  president, 
with  dignity,  "is 
one  of  the  judges 
to  give  out  prizes. 
When  the  screen 
is  pulled  up  the 
show  begins." 

But   in   a  few 
minutes  the  signal  was  given  and  the  screen  was 
raised.     "Now  it  is  open!"  said  Mary. 

Two  tall  jars  of  sunflowers  stood  at  the  entrance, 
each  bearing  the  card,  "Vote  of  Thanks."  The  piazza 
posts  were  trimmed  with  clematis  and  hop- vines.  The 
long  narrow  table  had  been  covered  with  sheets. 


210     MAKY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GKEW 

Jars  of  tall  asters  were  along  the  center,  each  with 
the  name  of  the  owner  attached,  and  on  Mary's  white 
Comet  asters  was  the  card,  "First  Prize."  There 
were  African  marigolds,  dainty  sweet  peas,  fragrant 
spikes  of  mignonette,  nasturtiums  in  plain  glass  bowls 
showing  their  delicate  pale-green  stems,  pansies  in 
rich  colors,  corn-flowers  of  Yale  blue.  At  the  other 
end  of  the  table  were  the  vegetables.  Randolph 
Findlayson's  corn  was  on  a  platter,  garnished  with 
flaming  nasturtiums,  and  the  firm  white  kernels  were 
temptingly  displayed.  The  card,  "  First  Prize,"  was 
beside  it. 

Visitors  crowded  about  the  table,  chatting  and 
admiring,  while  the  Horticultural  Club  stood  within 
hearing  of  their  comments  and  looked  very  pleased. 
Few  of  the  guests  showed  any  readiness  to  go  away. 

"They  're  waiting  until  the  prizes  are  given  out," 
whispered  Buddy  Thomas  to  Margaret.  "I  've  got 
two  second  prizes  anyway,  and  that  's  as  good  as  a 
first  — corn  and  nasturtiums." 

"And  how  did  you  grow  such  fine  corn,  my  lad?" 
asked  a  kindly-looking  old  gentleman  of  Randolph 
Findlayson.  "When  did  you  plant  it?  " 

"Twentieth  of  May,"  answered  Finnan  Haddie. 
"I  dug  the  ground  deep,  and  I  made  a  furrow  six 


THE   FLOWEK   SHOW  211 

inches  deep,  and  then  I  sprinkled  fertilizer,"  he  told 
rapidly,  "and  then  I  covered  that  over  'bout  two 
inches,  and  then  I  dropped  in  the  kernels,  five  to  each 
hole  ;  but  you  have  to  hoe  it  and  hoe  it  and  hoe  it." 

"They  're  going  to  give  out  the  prizes  now ! " 
whispered  Finnan  Haddie,  turning  to  Mary,  as  he 
saw  Judge  Patterson  and  Mr.  Trommel  in  earnest 
conversation. 

"No,  no  !  I  cannot  make  a  speech,"  said  Herr 
Trommel,  in  a  loud  whisper. 

"Sh-sh,"  said  Margaret  to  Buddy  Thomas  j  "the 
prizes  are  coming  ! " 

"I  have  been  asked  to  give  out  the  prizes,"  said 
Judge  Patterson,  standing  at  the  end  of  the  long 
table,  "but  I  must  first  say  that  I  have  never  before 
been  to  such  a  Flower  Show.  It  has  been  a  most  in- 
teresting exhibition,  and,  as  a  fellow-townsman,  I  am 
proud  of  the  Horticultural  Club. 

"Nasturtiums,  first  prize,  Eleanor  Thomas,"  he 
read.  Even  Eleanor's  yellow  braids  reflected  happi- 
ness as  she  went  up  to  take  her  envelop. 

Because  the  prizes  were  many  and  the  exhibitors 
were  few,  none  were  disappointed.  The  first  prize 
for  asters  and  for  sweet  peas  went  to  Mary ;  for  pan- 
sies,  Donald ;  for  the  best  arrangement,  Mildred  j  for 


212    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GKEW 

showing  of  vegetables,  Finnan  Haddie;  while  Margaret 
won  a  second  prize  for  sweet  peas,  and  Buddy  second 
for  corn  and  nasturtiums. 

"Hey,     Liebchen"     Mr. 
Trommel  spoke  in  a  loud 
whisper,  pulling  the  presi- 
dent's sleeve  as  she  passed 
him  with  Finnan  Haddie, 
"Liebchen,  tell   your  little 
Horticultural  to  wait.     I 
cannot  make  the  speech,  but 
I  have  something  for  them." 
"What  is  it,  Mr.  Trom- 
mel?" coaxed  little  Elea- 
nor, as  they  followed  him 
around  to  a  distant  corner 
of  the  piazza. 
He  stooped  over  a  flat  wooden  box. 
"I  have  been  much  pleased  with  the  little  gardens 
and  your  fine  Flower  Show,"  he  said,  beaming  on  the 
Horticultural  Club,  who  were  squatting  around  the 
box  for  a  better  look  at  what  might  come  out  of  it. 
"I  think  you  all  deserve  a  prize,  so  I  have  here  a 
prize  for  each  of  you."     He  opened  the  box  and  be- 
gan to  take  out  the  brown  bulbs. 


THE   FLOWEK    SHOW 


213 


"Onions ! "   exclaimed   Margaret,   disappointedly. 

"Onions,  indeed!"  repeated  Herr  Trommel,  in- 
dignantly. "It  is  the  Roman  hyacinth,  the  lovely 
Paper- White  narcissus, 
the  Due  von  Thol  tulip, 
I  have  for  you.  Onions  ! " 

"Please  excuse  me,  Mr. 
Trommel,"  said  Marga- 
ret, meekly. 

He  nodded.  "I  have 
these  kinds  because  they 
will  bloom  at  the  sarne^ 
time.  Yes."  He  counted 
them  over.  "There 

should  be  six  bulbs  for 
each  j  two  narcissus,  two 
hyacinth,  two  tulip—1 

"Oh,  say  !  "  exclaimed  Buddy,  with  enthusiasm. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Trommel ! "  cried  Mary. 

"These  will  bloom  at  the  same  time,  then  you 
shall  have  another  fine  Flower  Show.  That  is  the 
way  of  an  exhibition  :  when  you  have  won  prizes  at 
one,  you  are  not  happy  until  you  have  had  another." 

"Like  candy?"  suggested  Mary.  "You  always 
want  another  piece." 


214     MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GKEW 

Herr  Trommel  nodded.  "It  is  the  sweet,  the 
popular  praise.  A  little  of  it  is  goo&,*Liebchen,  but 
remember,  much  may  be  bad  for  the  stomach." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

SETTING  OUT  BULBS 
[October] 

HERR  TROMMEL  beamed  approvingly  on  the 
freshly  spaded  bed  in  Mary's  little  garden. 
"That  is  right,"  he  said.  "The  time  to  make  a  gar- 
den is  the  year  before." 

He  looked  around  in  silence  for  a  moment.  "But 
you  have  dug  up  your  privet  also  !  " 

Mary  nodded.  "Guess  what  I  ?ve  done  with 
them?  "  she  asked  with  an  air  of  importance. 

Herr  Trommel  shook  his  head. 

"Sold  them,"  said  Mary,  impressively;  "three 
dollars  a  hundred,  because  they  are  only  one-year 
plants." 

Mr.  Trommel  looked  at  her  with  admiration. 
"Are  you  in  business  already?  "  he  asked. 

"No,"  said  the  under-gardener,  modestly,  "not 
215 


216    MAEY'S  GAEDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GEEW 

exactly  ;  but  father  said  he  wanted  a  hedge,  and  I  re- 
membered you  said  mine  would  n't  be  any  good  for 
my  garden  next  year,  so  he  bought  mine.  And  I  'm  to 
set  it  out,  too.  I  offered  to  dig  the  trench  for  it,  but 
father  's  going  to  have  Quinlan  dig  it.  I  'm  to— to 
superintend." 

"That  is  a  fine  plan,"  said  Mr.  Trommel. 

"I  think  so,"  said  Mary.  "Father  said  it  would 
look  very  bad  if  any  one  else  superintended  when 
there  was  a  president  of  the  Horticultural  Club  in 
the  house." 

"That  is  so,"  agreed  Mr.  Trommel  ;  "and  can  you 
set  the  plants  straight?  " 

^Of  course,"  said  Mary  j  "and  I  'm  going  to  put 
an  inch  of  manure  in  the  bottom  of  the  trench  and 
have  the  string  stretched  tight,  and  then,"  she  went 
on  breathlessly,  "a  little  later  I  'm  going  to  mulsh 
the  plants,  so  they  will  surely  be  nice." 

"Liebchen,  you  speak  like  an  experienced  gar- 
dener." 

Mary  laughed  happily.  "Father  was  going  to 
pay  me  for  the  job,— setting  out  the  hedge,  I  mean, — 
but  I  wanted  John  to  dig  my  garden  for  me,  so  I 
thought  that  would  make  it  even.  He  dug  mine  this 
morning  and  he 's  coming  to  dig  the  trench  this  after- 


SETTING  OUT   BULBS  217 

noon.  You  see,  I  have  the  privet  heeled  in,"  she 
added  in  her  professional  manner. 

"I  see,"  said  Mr.  Trommel. 

"Guess  what  the  Horticultural  Club  's  going  to  do 
next  spring  ? "  she  said  mysteriously. 

"I  could  not." 

"We  've  decided  to  engage  in  business.  "We  're 
going  to  take  contracts,  yes,  and  fix  up  people's 
yards  for  them  in  the  spring,  like  Mr.  Fox  does, 
only  we  would  do  it  better." 

"And  would  you  do  pruning  also?" 

"Oh,  yes." 

"It  is  a  noble  work,  Liebchen,"  declared  the  old 
man,  earnestly.  "Then  one  can  pass  the  pretty  spiraeas 
and  forsythias  without  the  bad  feeling  here,"  and  he 
laid  his  hand  where  the  apron-strings  were  tied  in 
front,  "to  see  how  the  poor  things  are  choked  with 
branches  they  do  not  want  and  yet  have  their  heads 
cut  off  as  a  remedy." 

"Haddie  is  going  to  help  me  set  out  the  hedge,  be- 
cause I  gave  him  some  of  my  perennials,  some  of  the 
little  larkspurs  and  hollyhocks  I  grew  myself.  It 's 
nicest  to  give  things  away." 

"But  it  is  well  to  exchange  also,"  said  Mr.  Trom- 
mel. "The  lad  is  right. 


J, 


218  MARY'S   GARDEN  AND    HOW   IT  GREW 

"And  the  bulbs,  when  do  you  set  them  out?  " 

"Monday.  Would  you  show  me  Monday  after 
school?" 

"Yes,  I  might  come  over  then,  but  it  is  easy  to  set 
them  out.  Is  all  the  little  garden  dug  now?" 

"Oh,  no  5  the  asters  are  blooming,  and  sweet  peas 
a  little,  too.  It  's  just  my  perennial  border." 

+ 
On  Monday,  on  the  way  home  from  school,  Mary 

stopped  at  Mr.  Trommel's  in  the  old  fashion,  for  Mr. 
Trommel  sometimes  forgot  his  engagements. 

"We  're  all  ready  for  you,"  she  said. 

"Let  me  see  ;  it  is  the  bulbs  we  set  out,"  he  said, 
rising  from  his  work. 

"Just  wait  till  you  see  all  I  have  !  "  said  Mary. 

"Have  you  sand  in  your  garden?  " 

"Ho." 

"Then  I  take  a  little  with  us." 

"What  for?  "  asked  Mary. 

"The  bulbs  hate  manure  ;  if  we  put  a  little  sand 
around  them,  then  they  are  sure  not  to  touch  it. 
You  know  where  it  is,  Liebchen,  and  my  legs  are  old. 
Go  then  into  the  greenhouse  and  fill  a  flat  with  sand, 
and  then  we  plant  the  bulbs." 

"There  are  crocuses,"  she  confided,  as  they  closed 


SETTING   OUT   BULBS  219 

Mr.  Trommel's  gate  and  then  walked  across  the 
street— "two  kinds  of  crocuses,  the  yellow  ones  and 
the  purple,  and  snowdrops  and  tulips.  I  've  got  tu- 
lips," she  repeated,  "and  narcissus,  besides  those  you 
gave  me.  You  see,  I  wanted  my  garden  to  be  just 
like  yours.  And  daffodils,  too  !— father  gave  me 
those." 

"That  is  very  fine,"  said  Mr.  Trommel.     They  had 
come  to  the  gate  of  Mary's  little  garden.     "What 
shall  we  plant  first,  little  one  ?  "  he  asked. 
>     "Snowdrops,  because  they  come  up  first.     The 
/snowdrop's  other  name  is  Galanthus—I  know  that. 
/Where  would  be  the  best  place  for  them?    I  only 
Lhave  three." 

Herr  Trommel  considered  a  moment.  "I  should 
put  them  right  here  in  the  little  grass-plot,"  he  said. 
"I  think  they  like  it  better  than  in  the  border." 

"Just  dig  a  little  hole? " 

"We  dig  the  hole  and  make  the  ground  a  little 
richer,  then  we  put  a  handful  of  sand  in,  so  that  the 
manure  does  not  touch  the  roots." 

"Of  course  the  snowdrop  would  n't  like  that.  Is 
the  hole  deep  enough  ? " 

Herr  Trommel  peered  down  through  his  spectacles. 
"About  three  inches?  Yes,  that  is  right.  Some 


220     MAKY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GKEW 

people  put  the  snowdrop  in  a  cold  frame,  but  that  is 
a  wicked  thing.  The  little  lady  comes  up  as  soon  as 
it  is  possible,  and  it  is  not  pleasant  for  her  to  wake 
up  and  find  herself  in  a  box  with  lettuce  seeds  and 
other  vegetables,  perhaps." 

"Shall  we  put  the  crocuses  in  the  grass,  too  ?  "  ques- 
tioned the  assistant.  "Yours  are  in  the  grass." 

"I  think  the  little  patches  of  crocus  look  pretty 
coming  up  in  the  grass.  Besides,  you  have  also  the 
purple  crocus ;  that  is  far  happier  in  the  grass. 
When  the  little  crocus  comes  up  through  the  ground 
there  is  nothing  else  in  blossom.  It  has  just  the 
brown  earth,  and  that  does  not  look  pretty  with  the 
pale  purple  cups  — " 

"A  is  n't  becoming  to  it?"  suggested  Mary. 

"Yes,  yes,  that  is  it." 

"Won't  it  do  any  harm  when  we  run  the  lawn- 
mower  over  ? " 

"No,  no;  the  leaves  will  have  withered  then. 
These  spring  babies  stay  but  a  little  while." 

"And  we  plant  these  just  the  way  we  planted  the 
snowdrops  ?  " 

"Just  the  same.  The  flowers  might  be  larger  if 
we  put  in  more  fertilizer— they  like  the  leaf- mold  ; 
but  the  ground  is  good  :  it  is  not  necessary.  Size  is 


SETTING  OUT  BULBS  221 

not  everything.  I  like  you  just  as  well  as  if  you 
were  so  big  you  could  not  get  in  my  greenhouse.  I 
would  not  greatly  admire  an  anemone  that  was  six 
inches  across. 

"We  gardeners  sometimes  make  a  flower  more 
beautiful,  but  sometimes  we  change  it  until  the 
liebe  Gott  himself  would  hardly  know  which  flower 
it  was  meant  for.  The  double  snowdrop  !  That  is  a 
wickedness.  The  little  snowdrop  is  a  lovely  shape, 
and  more  petals  put  inside  the  little  bell  do  not 
make  it  prettier.  Double  violets !  That  is  another 
iniquity ! " 

"But  they  are  very  sweet,  and  they  come  in  a 
lovely  box,"  protested  Mary,— "a  great  bunch  of 
them  tied  with  violet  ribbon  ;  sometimes  it 's  a  cord 
—that  is  violet,  too,  with  tassels  on  the  end." 

"A  cord  with  tassels  and  a  lovely  box  !  "  groaned 
Mr.  Trommel.  "I  thought  you  were  a  gardener, 
Liebchen,  and  you  talk  like  a  —  a  young  lady.  Is  the 
dear  flower  better  for  being  made  into  a  purple 
rosette?"  he  demanded.  "Are  the  flowers  happy  in 
being  taken  away  from  their  homes  and  packed  to- 
gether in  a  bouquet  that  is  like  a  purple  cauliflower, 
and  worn  by  a  foolish  woman  who  is  chiefly  pleased 
in  knowing  how  much  they  cost  ?  " 


222     MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

But  the  assistant  was  unconvinced.  "I  'd  like  to 
be  grown  up  and  wear  a  big  bunch  of  violets  stuck 
in  my  coat,"  she  declared  firmly. 

Herr  Trommel  sighed.     "Let  us  go  on  with  the 
planting,"  he  said  sadly.     "What  have  you  there?" 
"Narcissus  and   daffodils  and  tulips— the  tulips 
are  the  scarlet  ones.     Narcissus  is  the 
one  who  was  changed  into  a  flower, 
is  n't  he?" 

"Urn— yes,"  replied  Mr.  Trommel. 
"He  is  the  young  man  who  looked  in 
the  glass  too  long." 

"But  it  was  n't  glass,"  protested  the 
under-gardener,  who  had  a   passion 
/ictssus     for  facts.     "It  was  a  pool  of 
water  where  he  looked  down  and  saw 
himself." 

"Well,"  said  Herr  Trommel,  impatiently,  "and 
was  not  that  all  the  kind  of  mirror  they  had  in  those 
days?  If  there  had  been  a  looking-glass  in  his 
room,  you  may  be  sure  Narcissus  would  never  have 
troubled  himself  to  go  to  the  brook.  No  ! " 

"Then  he  would  n't  have  changed  into  a  flower," 
said  Mary. 

"Perhaps  not,"  agreed  Mr.   Trommel,  "but  un- 


SETTING   OUT   BULBS  223 

doubtedly  he  is  prettier  as  a  flower  than  he  was  as  a 
young  man  j  besides,  there  are  more  of  him,  so  we 
cannot  be  sorry.  Let  us  put  these  in  the  border." 

"In  a  row?" 

"No.  I  think  a  clump  would  be  prettier  ;  we  have 
not  enough  to  make  a  row  —  no.  We  make  a  clump 
of  daffodils  and  a  clump  of  narcissus  and  then  a 
little  clump  of  tulips.  Yes." 

"That  would  be  pretty,"  agreed  the  under-gar- 
dener.  "Let  me  make  the  holes.  Six  inches  for 
the  daffodils,"  and  she  dug  busily  with  the  trowel ; 
"now  a  little  sand,  so  the  manure  can't  touch 
it-" 

"Be  sure  you  have  it  right  side  up ! "  put  in  Mr. 
Trommel. 

"Of  course,"  said  Mary,  with  dignity  ;  "the  little 
nose- that  is  the  top,  is  n't  it?" 

Mr.  Trommel  nodded. 

"And  if  I  come  over  to-morrow  you  '11  show  me 
how  to  fix  the  bulbs  so  they  will  grow  in  the 
house?" 

"Yes,  yes." 

"How  does  the  bulb  know  when  it  is  time  to  come 
out!" 

"How  does  it  know?"   repeated   Mr.   Trommel. 


224    MAEY'S  GAEDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GEEW 

"You  must  ask  the  liebe  Gott,  my  child.  Do  not 
you  awake  in  the  morning  when  you  have  slept 
enough?  These  crocuses  and  daffodils  we  have  put 
in  the  ground,  they  also  will  awake  when  they  have 
slept  enough." 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

BULBS  FOR  THE  WINDOW-GARDEN 
[October] 

U  said  you  would  show  me  how  to  plant  my 
bulbs,  so  I  could  have  them  in  my  window- 
garden,  Mr.  Trommel.  Did  you  forget?" 

The  old  gardener  was  standing  by  his  potting- 
bench. 

"No,  no  ;  this  time  I  did  not  forget.  I  have  the 
pots  ready  for  you— see?  Those  large  shallow  ones." 

"I  can  reach,"  she  said,  climbing  on  the  bench. 

"Now  we  put  the  soil  in  it,"  said  she,  going  quickly 
toward  the  potting-bench. 

"No,  no  !  not  yet.  Those  pots  are  new  ones.  Put 
them  in  the  tub  there  and  let  them  drink,  else  they 
will  take  the  moisture  from  the  bulbs.  No,  no,"  he 
repeated,  as  the  under-gardener  pushed  up  her  sleeve, 
making  ready  to  search  for  them  in  the  tub ;  "they 
15  225- 


226    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

have  not  yet  their  fill  of  water.  They  are  thirsty, 
those  pots.  Get  some  sand  in  the  flat  yonder,  and  we 
mix  the  soil  while  we  wait ;  one  third  sand  and  two 
thirds  potting-soil,"  he  directed. 

"Why  do  we  have  more  sand  for  bulbs  than  for 
other  things  ?  "  asked  Mary. 

"They  like  it  so,"  answered  Mr.  Trommel ;  "be- 
sides, the  roots  are  fine  and  little.  When  you  are 
potting,  Liebchen,  and  you  do  not  know  the  food  a 
plant  likes,  you  give  more  sand.  If  the  roots  are 
strong  and  heavy,  like  geranium  roots,  you  give  less 
sand.  They  can  take  big  mouthfuls  and  have  the 
strong  digestion.  But  even  for  these  the  potting-soil 
should  be  rich,  yet  loose— it  should  be  right." 

"But  how  do  you  know?"  asked  Mary,  in  per- 
plexity. 

Mr.  Trommel  passed  his  hand  through  the  rich, 
dark  soil,  squeezed  a  handful,  then  opened  his 
fingers.  "See,  it  is  damp,  yet  it  drops  apart,  or  is 
about  to  crumble — yes.  Now,  if  it  did  not,  if  it  held 
together,  as  when  you  make  a  snowball  or  the  mud- 
pies,  it  would  be  too  stiff.  Few  plants  would  like  it 
so,  but  for  the  bulbs  I  put  yet  more  sand  ;  two  of  sand 
to  one  of  potting-soil  is  not  too  much." 

"Now  they  have  had  enough  drink,"  said  Mary, 


BULBS   FOR   THE   WINDOW-GARDEN     227 

diving  with  bare  arms  into  the  tub  and  coming  up 
again  with  the  dripping  pots. 

"We  must  put  this  in  the  bottom,"  said  Herr 
Trommel,  dropping  bits  of  broken  crock  into  each 
pot ;  "it  is  for  drainage  and  so  the  hole  will  not  be- 
come tight  stopped." 

"But  you  did  n't  do  that  when  we  potted  cut- 
tings," objected  the  assistant. 

"The  pots  were  but  two  inches  j  if  they  are  bigger 
they  must  have  the  bit  of  crock." 

"We  can't  put  the  tulips  in  very  deep." 

"No  ;  the  little  fellows  just  have  their  noses  under 
the  covers.  Now  we  make  a  little  cushion  of  sand." 

"So  he  will  sleep  comfortably1?" 

"So  he  will  sleep  well,"  assented  Mr.  Trommel ; 
"and  we  put  the  other  fellows  in  here  — two,  three, 
four,  six  tulips ;  if  we  have  them  but  two  inches 
apart  they  will  not  crowd." 

"And  we  cover  them  over  up  to  the  noses?" 

"Yes,  but  shake  it  down  gently ;  we  do  not  pat  hard." 

"And  now  we  water  them  ;  bulbs,  Hebchen,  should 
be  kept  moist  but  not  too  wet.  Now  they  must  go 
in  the  dark  and  go  to  sleep." 

"Why  do  we  have  to  put  them  to  sleep?"  asked 
Mary. 


228    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

"It  is  this  way,  Liebchen.  The  pretty  flower,  the 
baby,  is  there  in  the  bulb  asleep.  The  roots,  you 
see,  have  not  grown.  They  stretch  down  while  the 
baby  is  sleeping,  when  the  ground  on  top  is  tight 
over  him,  before  the  spring  and  the  sunshine  wake 
him  up.  Then,  when  he  wakes  and  comes  up  to 
reach  the  sunshine,  the  roots  are  ready  to  take  care 
of  the  pretty  little  one  and  give  him  food  ;  but  if  we 
bring  him  in  the  house  and  wake  him  up  too  soon, 
he  has  no'  one  to  take  care  of  him." 

"I  understand,"  said  Mary ;  "and  we  can^t  put  it 
to  sleep  in  the  house,  because  the  baby  would  wake 
up  and  then  the  roots  can't  do  anything." 

"Yes,  that  is  it.  You  might  put  the  pot  in.  the 
cellar,  or — I  tell  you.  Dig  a  little  trench  in  the 
corner  by  the  fence,  where  the  cold  wind  is  kept  off. 
Then  you  put  the  pot  in  and  cover  over  well  and 
mark  it.  In  seven  or  eight  weeks  you  dig  it  up. " 

"But  you  know,  Mr.  Trommel,  that  Captain  Kidd 
lost  his  things  that  way,"  objected  Mary. 

"Captain  Kidd  did  not  mislay  his  things ;  he  was 
unable  to  return.  That  is  all.  Besides,  he  did  not 
plant  tulips  and  narcissi.  You  should  mark  the  place  ; 
and  you  must  make  the  trench  a  foot  deep  and  put 
in  a  layer  of  coal  ashes." 


BULBS    FOR   THE   WINDOW-GARDEN     229 

"You  said  those  were  n't  good  for  the  plants  ! " 

"They  are  for  drainage  and  to  keep  out  the 
worms— yes." 

"Then  we  put  in  the  pot?"  said  Mary. 

"About  level  with  the  ground,  yes;  and  then  we 
fill  in  with  earth  and  round  it  over ;  and  when  the 
nights  grow  cold  and  there  is  a  crust  frozen,  we  pile 
stable  litter  four  inches  deep  over  it— that  is  so  it 
will  not  freeze  tight.  And  then  when  it  has  slept— 
it  is  well  to  allow  eight  weeks— then  we  take  it  up." 

"Then  we  put  it  in  the  window?" 

"Not  yet ;  we  must  not  wake  it  suddenly.  Then 
we  put  it  in  a  room  that  has  light  and  air,  but  no 
extra  heat." 

"Then  the  bulbs  think  the  spring  is  coming,"  said 
Mary  ;  "and  they  get  ready." 

"Yes  j  and  when  it  has  its  clothes  ready,  then  the 
baby  comes  out :  when  the  leaves  and  stalks  are 
grown,  then  we  take  it  to  the  warm  sunshine  and 
have  the  flowers." 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

THE  WINDOW-GARDEN 
[October] 

TTTHAT  else  could  I  have  for  a  window-garden, 

'»      Mr.  Trommel  ?"  asked  Mary. 

The  old  man  took  the  pipe  from  his  mouth. 
"Geraniums — rubber-plant,"  he  said  indifferently  ; 
"they  suffer  long  and  are  kind." 

"But  I  want  something  different,"  objected  the 
under-gardener ;  "why  would  n't  other  things 
grow  f  " 

"Plants  do  not  like  it  in  our  houses.  They  do  not 
have  moisture  enough.  The  dry  furnace  heat  troubles 
them.  Also  the  insects.  If  you  try  to  grow  roses  the 
red  spider  will  find  them  out,  also  the  aphis ;  and 
one  aphis,  Liebchen,  can  have  nearly  a  hundred  chil- 
dren before  the  warm  weather  begins.  That  is  too 
many  for  a  rose-bush  to  take  care  of." 
230 


THE  WINDOW-GARDEN  231 

"I  'm  going  to  have  father  sit  and  smoke  his  cigar 
right  alongside  of  them  and  puff  the  smoke  on  the 
leaves.  That  will  keep 
the  insects  off." 

"Yes,  but  the  Herr  Papa 
might  grow  tired,  and  the 
lady  mother  would  not 
like  that  I  teach  you  Bor- 
deaux mixture  and  such 
things." 

"Could  n't  you  tell  me 
something  to  keep  the  in- 
sects off? " 

Herr  Trommel  thought 
a  moment.  "Can  you  re- 
member a  recipe,  little 
one  t " 

"Of  course  I  can— I  've 
been  to  cooking  school !  I  know  lots  of  them." 

"Well,  then,  take  a  quarter  of  a  pound  of  soap— '; 

"Quarter  of  a  pound  of  soap,"  repeated  Mary,  duti- 
fully. 

"Cut  it  in  nice  little  slices.  Put  it  in  a  quart  of 
water  and  let  it  stand  on  the  stove  until  it  is  dis- 
solved." 


232    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

"Like    you    melt    chocolate,"    said    the    under- 
gardener. 

"Yes ;  and  when  it  is  melted,  as  you  say,  add  to  it 
five  gallons  of  water — yes." 

"That  's  a  lot  of  water,"  said  Mary,  doubtfully. 
"Yes,  but  it  is  for  a  bath.    You  should  dip  the 
plants  in  this  every  week." 

"And  then  won't  the 
insects  bother?" 

"Very  little.  Insects, 
Hebchen,  are  like  chil- 

dren  that  are  not  nice  : 
they  do  not  like  water ; 

even  more  do  they  dislike 
soap  and  water.  But  the 
plants  like  to  be  clean." 

"But,  Mr.  Trommel,  I 
have  n't  any  inside 
plants." 

"Well,  then,  if  you 
have  no  house-plants, 
why  not  have  a  box  of 
sand  and  make  them 

yourself?    Have  you  not  made  cuttings  of  the  privet  ? 

Why  should  you  not  cut  from  the  Herr  Papa's  bushes 


THE    WINDOW-GARDEN  233 

and  make  little  forsythias  and  hydrangeas,  and  what 
you  wish— geraniums,  begonias?" 

"Would  they  grow?" 

"Surely  they  would  grow,  but  you  should  put  bits 
of  stone  or  crock  in  the  bottom  of  the  box,  then  a 
little  good  earth." 

"What  for?" 

"What  for?  Because  the  little  cuttings  may  stay 
in  the  box  longer  than  the  privets,  the  babies  will  be 
older  and  will  wish  for  more  to  eat  than  the  sand. 
Then  the  roots  go  down  deeper  and  find  it. 

"I  tell  you  how  else  you  can  have  flowers  in  the 
winter  that  will  not  be  trouble.  You  should  go  out 
some  quite  warm  day  in  January  when  the  buds  of 
forsythia  and  jasmine,  or  the  peach-tree  or  the 
apple,  begin  to  swell  a  very  little." 

"As  if  they  were  just  beginning  to  think  they 
might  perhaps  come  out  by  and  by  ? "  suggested  Mary. 

"Yes,  that  is  the  time.  Then  you  should  cut  some 
branches  and  bring  them  in  the  house.  First  you 
put  them  in  water  in  the  cellar,  then  you  put  them 
where  it  is  light,  and  after  you  put  them  in  the 
warm  sunshine ;  and  soon  you  have  the  fine  jar  of 
lovely  yellow  flowers  or  of  pink  or— what  you  will. 
That,  also,  is  easy." 


234    MARY'S  GAKDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GEEW 

"And  then  it  will  be  time  to  plant  seeds  in  boxes, 
and  then  we  '11  dig  my  flower-beds.  The  gardening 
hardly  stops  any  time,  Mr.  Trommel ! "  she  said. 

"No,"  he  answered;  "and  when  we  think  the 
plants  are  but  sleeping,  the  bulbs  are  making  their 
roots  down  there  in  the  dark." 

"And  then  the  Mother  Earth  is  teaching  the 
plants  how  to  act  when  they  come  up,  so  the  roots 
will  know  what  to  eat  to  make  all  the  different 
colors ;  because  in  the  summer,  when  they  are  so 
busy,  they  might  not  have  time.  Don't  you  think 
so?" 

"Perhaps,  Liebchen;  we  know  little  of  what  goes 
on  down  there.  The  Mother  Earth  is  a  very  fine 
housekeeper;  she  lets  nothing  go  to  waste.  The 
plant-children  are  very  wise.  She  may  save  the  time, 
as  you  say." 

"I  think  so,"  said  the  under-gardener. 
o 
ifi     .0; 

nrr  jjf 


CHAPTER    XXIX 

PLANTING  TREES 
[November] 

<TTEY!"  called  Mr.  Trommel,  as  he  spied  the 
-*-- *-  president  of  the  Horticultural  Club  on  her  way 
home  from  school.  He  was  leaning  over  his  gate. 

The  president  diverted  her  steps  at  once.  "Wait 
a  minute,"  she  called  back  to  her  companion,  as  she 
crossed  the  street. 

"I  set  out  two  or  three  trees,"  said  Mr.  Trommel ; 
"you  want  to  see  how  I  do  it?" 

"Oh,  yes!"  said  Mary,  promptly.  "Can  Haddie 
come  too  ?  " 

Mr.  Trommel  looked  across  the  street  at  the  boy, 
and  hesitated  a  moment.  "Yes,  let  him  come.  He 
is  a  good  lad." 

"Come   on,  Haddie,"  she  called  to  her  waiting 
comrade  ;  "  we  are  going  to  plant  trees  ! " 
235 


236    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 


"I  said  I  would  show  you,"  said  Herr  Trommel ; 
"I  did  not  say  I  would  let  you  plant.  First,  do 
you '  know  anything  about 
trees!"  and  he  turned  his 
spectacles  suddenly  on  his 
less  frequent  visitor. 

There  was  something  rather 
disconcerting  about  Herr 
Trommel's  kindly  but  pene- 
trating gaze  framed  in  his 
huge  glasses. 

To  his  young  friends  it 
seemed  to  say  :  "I  know  all 
about  it ;  now  what  do  you 
know!" 

"I  know  they  are  n't— they 
are  n't  herbaceous  plants," 
said  Randolph  Findlayson, 
somewhat  abashed. 

"That  is  some- 
thing," admitted 
Mr.  Trommel. 

"Tell  me,  my  lad, 
what  would  you  do  if  you  had  sent  you  a  present 
of  some  trees  !    What  would  you  do  the  first  thing  !  " 


DIAGRAM  SHOWING  "  HEELING  IN 


PLANTING   TREES  237 

The  boy  hesitated  a  moment.  "I  think  I  would 
take  off  the  wrappings  and  look  at  them  first." 

"So  would  I !  "     Mary  came  to  his  assistance. 

"No,  no  j  you  should  first  have  the  ground  made 
ready  for  them.  What?  You  would  open  them, 
perhaps  in  the  sunshine,  perhaps  in  the  wind,  and 
leave  them  there  with  the  roots  out  and  kill  some 
fine  young  evergreen  that  has  never  been  away  from 
home  before  ?  " 

"But  you  said,  '  if  they  were  a  present,' "  insisted 
Mary ;  "and  a  present  is  usually  a  s'prise,  so  how 
could  you  have  the  place  ready !  And  then,  how 
could  you  plant  the  trees  if  you  did  n't  open  the 
bundle?  I  think  you  are  n't  quite  fair  to  Finnan 
Haddie  ! " 

"Eh  !  What?  "  said  the  old  gardener.  "No,  no ! 
Any  one  who  loved  trees  enough  to  send  you  them 
for  a  gift  would  like  them  well  enough  to  send  also 
before  a  little  letter,  that  you  might  know  they  were 
coming.  Certainly  you  must  unpack  them.  But  you 
must  not  unpack  them  in  the  wind  nor  in  the  sun  : 
that  would  hurt  the  roots.  It  is  better  that  they  be 
under  cover.  And  if  they  come  as  a  surprise,  as  you 
say,  then  you  should  heel  them  in  until  you  have 
the  home  ready." 


238    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

"'Heel  in,'  "  repeated  Randolph  Findlayson  ;  "that 
is  what  we  did  to  the  privets  when  we  dug  a  hole 
and  put  them  together  in  a  bunch  and  covered  the 
roots." 

"It  just  means,"  explained  Mary,  "that  you  put 
their  feet  in  the  ground.  That 's  why  we  call  it  'heel 

***<}) in'  »  if  y°u  said 

'toe  in'  it  would 
do  just  as  well,  but 
'toe     in'     has    another— an- 
other-" 

"Another        significance1?" 
suggested  Mr  Trommel. 

"Yes,    that    's    it — another 
significance." 
ft  vo K-e  v\     root-      « But  where  are  the  trees f  » 

asked   Finnan   Haddie. 

"I  have  them  here  in  the  little  shed  at  the  end  of 
the  greenhouse." 

"They  are  n't  very  big  for  trees,"  remarked  Mary. 

"No,"  said  Herr  Trommel,  unconcerned.  "You 
Americans  are  always  for  planting  the  big  trees  ;  we 
know  better.  Let  them  grow  but  five  years  and  the 
little  tree  will  be  bigger  than  the  bigger  tree.  It  is 
better  to  move  them  young — yes." 


PLANTING  TKEES  239 

"But  you  took  the  bagging  off,"  said  Mary. 

"Yes,  but  I  took  it  off  in  a  cool  place  and  not  ex- 
posed, and  I  sprinkled  the  roots  with  water,  and  I 
put  the  wet  hay  over  them  again ;  besides,  I  am 
ready  to  plant." 

"Now  I  show  you  what  we  do  first " ;  and  he  sat 
down  and  took  out  his  pruning-knife,  took  up  one  of 
the  trees,  and  looked  over  the  roots  carefully.  "I 
wish  to  see  what  those  fellows  who  dug  them— what 
they  have  done  to  them,"  he  said,  looking  over  his 
glasses  at  his  two  assistants.  "  Ha  !  there  is  a  broken 
root." 

"What  do  you  cut  it  for? "  asked  Mary's  neighbor. 

"It  is  broken— it  has  to  heal ;  we  must  always  have 
a  clean  cut.  Did  I  not  show  you  when  we  budded 
the  apple-trees  that  we  must  not  haggle  ?  It  is  a  clean, 
straight  cut  that  heals  well.  Sometimes  when  a  larger 
root  has  been  broken  we  cover  the  cut  with  tar,  just 
as  we  put  wax  over  the  cut  end  when  we  grafted. 
See,  I  cut  the  root  an  inch  above  the  break.  Now 
we  are  ready." 

"Why  does  the  wind  hurt  the  roots?"  asked 
Mary. 

"Perhaps  it  is  that  it  dries  up  the  moisture  very 
quickly.  If  the  roots  liked  the  air,  they  would  go 


240     MAKY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

up  and  find  it  instead  of  going  as  far  away  from  it 
as  they  can." 

"I  suppose  they  feel  uncomfortable  when  they  are 
out  of  earth— like  fishes  do  out  of  water,"  remarked 
Mary. 

"It  might  be  much  the  same  feeling." 

"I  see  where  you  're  going  to  plant  it ! "  cried 
Finnan  Haddie,  who  had  run  ahead.  "But  what  a 
big  hole  you  've  made  ! " 

"It  is  better  too  big  than  too  little.  Would  you 
not  rather  be  in  a  place  that  is  a  little  big  than 
one  so  small  you  could  not  stand  in  ?  If  it  is  too 
large  it  makes  no  difference.  If  it  is  too  little  some 
root  will  be  crushed. 

"Now  I  hold  the  tree  straight,  and  you,  Liebchen, 
and  you,  my  lad,  fill  in  with  fine  earth.  You  see,  I 
hold  him  so  he  will  be  just  as  far  in  the  ground  as  he 
was  before." 

"It  interferes  with  his  breathing  if  he  is  in  too 
deep,"  remarked  Mary. 

"Wait !  Stop  ! "  cried  Herr  Trommel,  when  the 
hole  was  about  two  thirds  full;  "now  we  put  in 
water." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know ;  you  go  turn  on  the  faucet, 
Finnan  Haddie,"  commanded  Mary,  "and  I  '11  hold 


PLANTING   TREES 


241 


the  hose.     You  can't  leave  the  tree,  you  know,"  she 
explained  to  Mr.  Trommel. 

"Very  well,"  agreed  Herr 
Trommel;  "but  mind  that 
you  turn  off  the  faucet  when 
I  say  l  Hold  ! '  I  am  not  a 
vegetable ;  I  do  not  wish 
my  feet  wet.  They  are  fine 
things  for  holding  rheuma- 
tism. Now,  then — "  And 
the  hose  was  played  into  the 
hole  with  fine  dexterity. 

"Hold  I "  he  cried  as  the 
water  was  about  to  overflow. 
"That  is  good.  Now  we  let 
it  settle." 

"Why  do  you 
put  the  water  in 
now  when  it  is 
n't  all  planted?" 
asked  the  as- 
sistant, leaving 
his  post  by  the 

faucet    to     take      DlAGRAM  SHOWING  How  TO  SET  OUT  A  TBBB 

a  nearer  view,  although  Mary  still  held  the  hose. 


242     MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GKEW 

"Why?"  repeated  Herr  Trommel.  "Because  the 
water  will  then  wash  the  soil  around  the  fine  little 
roots  without  disturbing  them.  When  we  shovel  in 
the  earth  and  press  down  with  the  foot  it  is  not  so 
well  done.  The  water  does  it  better.  Now  we  fill 
up  to  the  top  with  earth,  and  then  we  press  down 
firmly  with  the  foot— so." 

"Perhaps  you  'd  better  jump  on  it,  Haddie,"  sug- 
gested the  president  of  the  Horticultural  Club. 

"That  is  not  necessary,"  said  Mr.  Trommel,  quickly. 

"It's  'most  like  planting  roses,  is  n't  it?  "  remarked 
Mary.  "But  when  it 's  roses,  you  have  to  put  the 
graft  under  the  ground.  You  could  n't  do  that  with 
this  tree,  because  then  it  could  n't  breathe.  Besides, 
it  would  look  funny :  the  bud  is  'way  up  there,  two 
feet  from  the  ground.  See  it,  Haddie  ?  There  where 
there  's  a  kind  of  wiggle  in  the  stem?  " 

"That  is  the  place,"  assented  Mr.  Trommel. 

"And  if  the  suckers  come  out  below  that,  you  cut 
them  off,"  said  Randolph  Findlayson,  who  did  not 
wish  to  be  thought  ignorant. 

"That  is  right,"  said  Mr.  Trommel,  beaming  ap- 
provingly on  the  boy. 

"Are  you  going  to  mulsh  it?"  inquired  Mary. 

"Mulsh?    Yes.     I  mulsh  it  well  with  stable  litter 


PLANTING   TREES  .    243 

and  manure.  That  keeps  it  warm,  also  it  enriches 
the  ground ;  also  it  keeps  the  frost  from  heaving  it." 

"How  does  the  frost  heave  it?"  asked  Mary. 

"Ach!"  said  Herr  Trommel,  impatiently,  "I  can- 
not answer  everything.  And  if  I  knew  everything 
I  should  be  in  the  Himmel  or  a  professor  at  Got- 
tingen,— not  teaching  two  children  how  to  plant  a 
tree  !  When  it  becomes  cold,  the  Mother  Earth  goes 
to  sleep  ;  and  when  it  becomes  warmer,  she  stretches 
herself." 

"Oh,  I  understand,"  said  the  president  of  the  Hor- 
ticultural, quickly  ;  "she  is  restless  and  rolls  over  in 
her  sleep  and  throws  the  clothes  off.  I  do  that  some- 
times." 

"Yes,  yes  j  that  is  it.  It  is  when  the  days  grow 
warm  that  she  grows  more  restless ;  she  begins  to 
wake." 

"Of  course,"  said  Mary ;  "it  is  when  you  are  too 
hot  that  you  throw  the  clothes  off.  Perhaps  when 
the  ground  is  frozen  stiff  the  earth  feels  as  if  she  had 
on  very  tight  corsets  and  could  n't  take  a  good  breath." 

"Perhaps,"  admitted  Mr.  Trommel.  "And  if  we 
have  it  wet  in  the  autumn,  then  the  soil  is  packed 
down  well  about  the  roots,  and  they  are  not  hurt 
when— when  the  Mother  Earth  takes  off  her  corsets ; 


244    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

a  little  coating  of  ice  has  formed  about  the  roots  and 
keeps  them  from  being  hurt." 

"But  how  does  the  ice  keep  them  warm?"  ques- 
tioned the  under-gardener,  in  perplexity. 

"Urn— well,  the  snow  keeps  the  ground  warm ;  it 
is  of  the  cold  air  that  the  little  roots  are  afraid.  Yes. 
Now,  if  it  is  dry,  the  soil  is  not  so  close  around  the 
roots  ;  there  is  not  the  little  coat  of  ice  ;  and  when  the 
ground  cracks,  the  cold  air  comes  in  and  hurts 
them." 

"But  our  club,"  began  Mary,— "you  know  we  're 
going  to  fix  people's  grounds  for  them." 

"Set  out  trees  and  flower-beds  and  those  things," 
finished  Randolph  Findlayson. 

"Yes,  and  we  '11  have  to  do  most  of  it  in  the 
spring.  'Most  all  the  people  we  have  asked  say  they 
will  'see  about  it  in  the  spring,'"  said  Mary.  "Do  we 
set  out  trees  the  same  way  then?  " 

"How  else  should  you  set  them  out?  But  I  tell 
you  this,  Liebchen:  people  are  foolish  and  will  get 
their  trees  late  ;  then  at  the  end  of  May  you  will  be 
setting  out  a  fine  young  tree  already  coming  into 
leaf.  Do  you  know  what  you  should  do  then  ?  " 

The  president  of  the  Horticultural  Club  shook  her 
head. 


PLANTING  TREES 


245 


"You  should  take  out  your  pruning-shears  and 
cut,  cut,  cut— more  than  half  the  last  year's  growth." 

"But  what  will 
they  say?"  pro- 
tested Mary.  v 

"They   will    say,  \\  A  \ 

'Oh,  oh!  What  are 
you  doing  ?  We 
shall  have  no  flowers 
this  year !  "We 
wanted  it  for  im- 
mediate effect.' " 

"And  what  shall 
I  say  then?"  asked 
Mary. 

"What  shall  you 
say  ?  You  will  say  to  the  foolish  person, '  Then  you 
should  have  planted  it  last  year.  Shall  I  give  the 
little  tree  nervous  prostration  because  you  want 
immediate  effect? ' " 

"But  maybe  he  would  n't  let  us  go  on  and  fix  up 
the  place,"  protested  the  other  assistant. 

"It  is  probable  he  would  not,"  answered  Herr 
Trommel,  unconcerned,  "but  it  is  well  to  suffer  in  a 
good  cause." 


246    MAEY'S  GAEDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GEEW 

"But  you  told  me  we  ought  to  prune  after  the 
shrubs  had  blossomed,"  said  Mary. 

"I  did,"  said  Herr  Trommel,  promptly. 

"And  now  you  say  to  cut  back  before  it  blossoms," 
she  complained. 

"Yes,"  he  repeated,  unmoved.  "It  is  not  often 
that  a  rule  is  always  so." 

"Gardening  is  very  distracting  at  times,"  sighed 
the  president  of  the  Horticultural  Club. 

"No,  no !  it  is  very  simple.  When  it  is  living 
comfortably  at  home,— is  '  established, '  we  say,— then 
we  prune  the  shrub,  or  the  tree,  as  I  showed  you ; 
we  just  cut  back  a  little  and  take  away  the  pretty 
dresses  when  the  shrub  is  done  with  them.  Yes  ! 

"Now,  if  you  move  a  young  tree  when  it  is  in  leaf, 
that  is  another  thing.  Its  plans  are  upset.  It  has  all 
the  little  budding  leaves  to  take  care  of,  and  they 
must  have  food,  and  yet  the  roots  that  are  not  at 
home  in  the  new  place  do  not  yet  know  where  to  find 
something  to  eat.  Now,  which  is  better :  that  the 
little  tree  put  out  all  the  leaves  it  can,  or  that  it  first 
find  food  ?  The  bread  and  butter,  or  to  look  pretty  ? 
Which  should  come  first!"  he  demanded,  fixing  his 
spectacles  on  Eandolph  Findiayson,  who  had  been 
listening  intently. 


"'THE  LAD  MUST  HOLD  IT  STRAIGHT  FOE  You" 


248    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

"I  should  think  it  ought  to  find  something  to  eat 
first,"  said  Finnan  Haddie. 

Herr  Trommel  beamed  approvingly.  "That  is  not 
bad.  You  see,  we  move  trees  when  they  are  asleep, 
and  then  the  roots  do  not  mind  ;  they  have  plenty  of 
time  to  make  themselves  at  home.  Do  you  know 
when  a  tree  is  asleep  ?  " 

"When  it  has  n't  any  leaves  on,"  answered  the 
boy. 

"That  is  not  bad,  either,"  said  Mr.  Trommel. 
"Come,  let  us  plant  another  tree." 

"You  're  going  to  let  us  plant  this  one,"  said  Mary, 
coaxingly,  as  they  stood  at  the  hole. 

"Um — well,  the  lad  must  hold  it  straight  for  you, 
and  I  will  help  shovel  in  the  soil.  Rock  it  a  little 
carefully  from  side  to  side,  my  lad,  as  you  saw  me 
do,  so  that  the  earth  gets  well  under  it.  That  is 
right." 

"Now  we  put  the  water  in,"  said  Mary,  hurrying 
to  the  faucet ;  "the  hole  's  full  enough  for  that,  is  n't 
it?" 

"Yes.  Wait  now  until  it  settles,"  said  Mr.  Trom- 
mel, for  his  assistants  were  preparing  to  throw  in  the 
soil. 

"Now  we  can  fill  in." 


PLANTING  TREES  249 

"And  now  we  stamp  it  down,"  said  Mary,  going 
vigorously  to  work  at  this  last  process.  "There, 
Mr.  Trommel !  Is  n't  that  planted  nicely?  " 

"It  is  a  beautiful  piece  of  work,  my  children," 
said  the  old  man ;  "you  should  do  a  fine  business 
next  year." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

MAKING  A  COMPOST  HEAP 
[November] 

'  T  'M  very  much  troubled,  Mr.  Trommel,"  said  the 
J-  under-gardener,  coming  into  the  greenhouse  one 
Saturday  morning. 

Mr.  Trommel  was  arranging  the  pots  on  the  green- 
house bench.  He  looked  up.  "And  what  is  the 
trouble,  Liebchen  f  Is  it  something  wrong  that  you 
have  done,  or  is  it  something  wrong  you  wish  to  do 
and  have  not  done  ? " 

The  under-gardener  sighed  deeply.  "Mother 
won't  let  me  have  a  compost  heap  in  the  yard,"  she 
said. 

"What!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Trommel,  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"She  won't,"  repeated  Mary,  sadly ;  "and  I  told 
her  it  was  very  important,  and  how'good  it  would  be 
250 


MAKING  A  COMPOST  HEAP  251 

for  my  garden,  and  that  you  were  going  to  show  me 
just  how  it  ought  to  be  made— but  she  won't!" 
finished  the  president  of  the  Horticultural  Club, 
disconsolately. 

Mr.  Trommel  looked  grave.  "And  the  Herr 
Papa  f  "  he  asked  solicitously. 

"Oh,  he  says  just  what  mother  says,  of  course. 
You  know  how  it  is,"  explained  Mary.  "When  you 
want  to  do  some  things  it  's  better  to  ask  your 
father,  and  when  you  want  to  do  other  things  it 's 
better  to  ask  your  mother  5  because  if  your  father 
says  'yes,'  why,  mother  says  'very  well,  then,'  when, 
if  you  'd  asked  her  first,  she  might  have  said  'no.' 
Perhaps  I  'd  better  have  asked  father  about  the 
compost  heap,"  sighed  the  president,  regretfully ; 
"but  it 's  too  late  now." 

"You  will  be  a  philosopher,  little  one.  But  never 
mind  ;  the  lady  mama  is  an  excellent  lady,  but— she 
is  not  a  gardener  :  we  cannot  expect  that  she  should 
understand. 

"I  tell  you,"  he  said  after  a  moment,  looking  at 
his  assistant's  clouded  face ;  "you  shall  make  a  com- 
post heap  at  the  foot  of  my  garden ;  there  is  space 
enough.  Then,  when  you  wish  the  fertilizer,  you  shall 
take  it  over  in  the  little  wheelbarrow.  How  is  that?  " 


252    MAEY'S  GAEDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GEEW 

Mary  brightened  at  once.     "Oh,  would  you?" 

Herr  Trommel  nodded.  "Come,  and  I  show  you 
how  we  do  it.  Where  is  the  yellow-haired  lad?  You 
better  have  him  help  you." 

"Haddie  ?  Oh,  I  '11  get  him.  But  —  but  don't  you 
wait,  Mr.  Trommel ;  we  '11  come  right  down  to  the 
garden."  And  she  was  off. 

Herr  Trommel  went  to  the  corner  of  the  green- 
house where  his  tools  were  kept,  took  up  a  spade 
and  a  dung-fork,  then  took  down  from  its  peg  his 
thick  woolen  cap,  settled  it  carefully  on  his  head ; 
then  he  opened  the  door. 

"We  beat  you,  Mr.  Trommel ! "  cried  Mary,  as  the 
old  gardener  came  out  of  the  greenhouse. 

He  laughed.  "That  is  not  much ;  you  have  only 
beaten  my  legs ;  wait  until  you  can  beat  the  old 
Peter  at  helping  the  plants  to  grow  !  " 

"We  've  got  our  shovels,  Mr.  Trommel,"  said  the 
boy.  The  football  season  had  begun,  and  his  shock  of 
hair  shone  like  a  yellow  chrysanthemum  above  the 
scarlet  sweater. 

"Why  do  you  call  it  a  'compost  heap'?"  asked 
Mary. 

"Liebchen,"  said  Mr.  Trommel,  "  when  you  are  in 
the  Himmel,  I  think  the  Hebe  Gott  will  have  to  send 


MAKING  A   COMPOST   HEAP  253 

one  angel  who  shall  do  nothing  but  answer  questions 
for  you,  or  you  could  not  be  happy.  Why  do  we  say 
1  compost  heap ' !  Why  should  we  not?  It  is  differ- 
ent from  manure  ;  it  is  not  earth—" 

"Perhaps  it  's  because  it  is  '  composed'  of  a  good 
many  things'?  "suggested  Mary. 

"I  doubt  not,"  agreed  Herr  Trommel,  hastily. 

"Now,"  he  said,  as  they  reached  the  end  of  the 
little  garden,  where  a  four-barred  fence  divided  it 
from  a  bit  of  pasture-land,  "we  slip  the  bars  out, 
so,  and  then  you  shall  push  the  wheelbarrow  through. 
That  is  right.  You  have  shovels  ?  " 

"Of  course,"  said  Mary. 

"Well,  then,  you  should  take  up  some  of  the  turf, 
as  if  you  were  taking  up  sods.  You  know  how  that 
is  done?  " 

"Oh,  yes ;  I  've  done  it,"  said  Finnan  Haddie, 
proudly.  "How  many  shall  we  get?" 

"Um-m.  Dig  until  you  are  tired.  That  should  be 
enough.  We  shall  not  make  a  large  heap.  You  need 
not  get  them  very  thick." 

The  two  worked  faithfully  until  the  wheelbarrow 
was  filled. 

"Could  you  help  us,  Mr.  Trommel?"  appealed 
Mary.  "The  wheelbarrow  's  a  little  heavy." 


254    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  said  he,  ducking  under  the 
top  rail  of  the  fence.  "You  have  done  well.  Now," 
he  began,  when  the  sods  were  safely  on  the  garden 
side  of  the  fence,  "now  we  make  the  layer-cake. 
You  see  this  pile  of  manure  we  have  here?  Yes? 
Well,  we  do  thus :  first  a  layer  of  manure,  then  a 
layer  of  sods,  then  another  layer  of  manure.  That  is 
the  way  it  is  built." 

"What  are  the  sods  good  for?"  asked  Randolph 
Findlayson. 

"When  the  grass  becomes  rotted  and  dead,  it  is 
good  food  for  the  plants  ;  but  we  must  be  sure  it  is 
dead.  The  earth  also  becomes  well  mixed  with  the 
manure ;  it  is  then  more  conveniently  digested. 
Many  kinds  of  garden  litter  are  of  use  in  the  com- 
post heap.  It  is  in  a  garden  like  the  pot-au-feu  in  the 
kitchen." 

"What  is  pot-au-feu  f  "  asked  Randolph  Findlay- 
son. 

"It  is  the  foundation  of  many  good  dishes. 

"That  is  well  done,"  he  declared,  after  surveying 
critically  the  square  heap. 

"Looks  like  a  funeral  pyre,"  commented  Mary, 
"the  kind  the  Greeks  used  to  have.  I  've  seen  them 
lots  of  times  in  pictures.  Only  we  ought  to  have 


MAKING  A  COMPOST  HEAP 


255 


something  on  top  for  Hector  or  Achilles.     Dido  had 
a  funeral  pyre,  too.     She  made  it  herself." 

"And  Siegfried -he 
had  a  funeral  pyre," 
put  in  Eandolph  Find- 
layson. 

"Siegfried  was  not 
put  on  a  compost 
heap!"  said  Mr.  Trom- 
mel, indignantly. 

"Why  do  we  pile  it 
up  this  way?"  asked 
Mary. 

The  old  gardener 
sighed.  "It  is  conve- 
nient. It  is  to  have  the 
ingredients  well  mixed, 
so  that  the  Mother  Na- 
ture shall  cook  them  together.  The  wind  and  the 
rain  and  the  sun— they  cook  it  for  us.  Also  the 
compost  heap  should  be  turned  over  at  times — as 
you  stir  good  things  when  they  are  cooking." 

"Preserves,"   put  in   the    under-gardener ;  "and 
candy  ;  you  stir  candy,  too,  sometimes." 

"Yes  5  well,  this  is  preserves  and  candy  both  for 


256     MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

the  plants.     It  will  be  beautiful  when  it  is  done — a 
fine  velvet-brown ! 

"Now,  Liebchen,"  he  said,  as  the  young  visitors 
were  saying  good-by,  "a  compost  heap  is  a  fine  thing  ; 
but  I  think  you  better  change  your  shoes,  perhaps, 
before  you  speak  with  the  lady  mama.  The  lady 
mama  is  an  excellent  lady,  but — she  is  not  a  gar- 
dener ! » 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

PUTTING  THE  GARDEN  TO  SLEEP 
[November] 

garden  goes  to  sleep  now  for  the  winter," 
said  Herr  Trommel.  "See,  I  tuck  up  my  roses. 
I  have  left  them  as  long  as  I  dared,  for  they  do  not 
like  to  be  under  the  bedclothes.  This  is  the  last 
one." 

"Can  she  breathe,  Mr.  Trommel,  through  all  that 
stuff?  "  asked  Mary,  looking  aghast  at  the  rose's  "bed- 
clothes "  of  straw  and  manure. 

"No-o,  but  I  have  left  perhaps  a  third  of  her  top 
out ;  the  rest  of  her  is  under  the  stable  litter,  but  she 
can  breathe  with  the  stem  that  is  out.  We  have  to 
remember  to  take  off  the  covering  as  soon  as  we  can 
in  the  spring.  She  does  not  like  to  be  under  the 
bedclothes,"  he  repeated. 

"My  garden  's  put  to  sleep,  too,"  said  Mary. 
257 


258    MARY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

"I  've  pulled  up  all  the  dead  flower-stalks,  and  the 
sweet  peas  top,  and  I  put  the  dead  vines  on  the  beds 
to  keep  the  perennials  warmer.  I  mulshed  them. 
It  's  very  interesting,  is  n't  it,  Mr.  Trommel,  the  way 
flowers  keep  on  being  useful  after  they  're  dead  ?  " 

"Very,"  said  Herr  Trommel. 

"And  I  've  put  the  stable  litter  and  manure  over 
my  flower-beds,— I've  mulshed  them,  I  mean,— and 
it  's  all  put  to  sleep.  But  it  does  n't  look  very 
pretty,"  she  added. 

"Never  mind  ;  you  must  think  of  the  roots  that  are 
safe  and  warm,  and  the  brown  bulbs  we  have  in  the 
ground,  the  crocuses  and  daffodils  and  tulips,  and  the 
little  snowdrops,  that  are  now  seeing  the  Mother 
Earth.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  little  spirit  that 
stays  for  a  while  in  the  garden  after  the  flowers  are 
gone?" 

"No,"  said  Mary,  immediately  interested;  "tell 
me  about  him,  Mr.  Trommel.  Is  he  a  fairy,  like 
Cinderella's  godmother,  or  a  genius  like  Aladdin's, 
or-?" 

"No,  no  ;  it  is  just  a  little  fellow  that  lives  in  the 
flowers — " 

"Oh,  I  know  !— like  Ariel ;  he  slept  in  the  cowslips, 
Mr.  Troihmel. 


PUTTING  THE   GARDEN   TO  SLEEP    259 

'  Where  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I, 
In  the  cowslip's  bell  I  lie, 
There  I  couch  when  owls  do  fly,' " 

she  quoted.     "Don't  you  remember? " 

"Yes,  yes ;  that  is  the  kind." 

"But  what  did  he  do  in  the  garden?  " 

"What  did  he  do?  He  would  swing  on  the  poppy 
buds  and  try  to  hold  them  down  when  they  wished 
to  straighten  and  open  ;  and  then  he  would  perch  on 
the  stems  of  the  little  columbines  and  set  them 
dancing,  and  perhaps  he  would  ring  chimes  on  the 
canterbury-bells  ;  and  at  night—" 

"At  night?"  asked  the  listener,  with  wide  brown 
eyes  intent  on  the  old  gardener's  face. 

"At  night  he  would  curl  himself  on  the  soft  poppy 
petals,  and  the  poppy  would  fold  the  pretty  petals 
about  him,  and  he  would  go  to  sleep. 

"But  when  the  flowers  are  gone  he  feels  sorry ; 
he  has  no  playmates ;  he  stays  a  little,  looking  for 
them  and  hoping  that  they  will  come  back.  We 
cannot  see  him,  but  we  hear  him  talking  to  himself 
among  the  borders,  and  we  feel  sorry,  too." 

The  under-gardener  was  silent  a  moment. 

"Don't  you  know  where  he  goes  then?" 

Mr.  Trommel  shook  his  head. 


260    MAEY'S  GARDEN  AND  HOW  IT  GREW 

"I  know ! " 

"Yes?" 

"If  he  liked  to  sleep  in  the  cowslips  and  the  pop- 
pies, why,  when  the  flowers  are  all  gone  he  just  slips 
down  into  the  ground  and  curls  up  inside  of  the  cro- 
cus bulbs — he  would  like  the  yellow  crocus  best.  He 
has  a  very  nice  time  in  the  crocus  bulb,  and  he 
comes  up  again  with  the  first  one.  He  is  n't  afraid 
of  the  cold  there,  for  the  crocus  is  made  out  of  the 
Mbelungen  gold  and  little  pieces  of  sunshine." 

"I  did  not  know  about  the  sunshine." 

"The  Mother  Earth  ought  to  have  plenty  of  it 
down  there,"  answered  the  under-gardener,  "when 
it  just  soaks  into  the  ground  all  summer.  Where  else 
could  she  get  all  the  yellow  from  for  all  the  butter- 
cups and  dandelions  and  tulips?  There  would  n't 
be  enough  of  the  Nibelungen  gold  to  go  around." 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,"  admitted  Mr.  Trommel. 

"First  will  come  the  little  snowdrop,  and  then  the 

crocuses,  and  then  the  daffodils  and  the  narcissus,  and 

then  the  garden  will  be  awake.   The  garden  does  n't 

I  really  die ;  it  just  goes  to  sleep  and  then  wakes  up, 

does  n't  it?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  old  gardener ;  "the  flowers  do  not 
change ;  but  sometimes  the  plants  grow  large,  and 


PUTTING   THE   GAKDEN   TO  SLEEP    261 

then  we  must  separate  and  divide  them.  That  is 
what  you  will  be  doing  one  of  these  days,  Liebchen. 
You  will  grow  up  and  be  transplanted  and  trans- 
ported, and  then  you  will  make  no  more  gardens 
with  old  Peter." 

"No,  no!"  she  said  earnestly.  "My  garden's  a 
perennial ;  it  will  come  up  every  year  now,  just  like 
birthdays." 

"Yes,"  answered  the  old  man,  doubtfully ;  "but 
even  if  you  are  a  perennial  also,  it  is  the  perennials 
that  are  taken  up  and  transplanted." 

"But  I  would  hold  on  tight  to  the  wires,  like  the 
sweet  peas  do  when  the  bees  come  and  talk  to 
them." 

The  old.gardener  smiled.  "But  if  it  should  be  a 
very  fine  butterfly  instead  of  a  noisy  bee,  you  might 
like  to  go,  too  ? " 

"Perhaps,"  admitted  Mary,  looking  serious ;  "but 
I  would  always  love  the  garden  just  the  same— the 
butterflies  do  that." 

"I  am  sure  of  it,  Liebchen;  and  people  who  love 
their  gardens— they  do  not  forget  the  old  gardeners, 
either." 


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